


Restraint

by Jean_Lightfoot



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jean_Lightfoot/pseuds/Jean_Lightfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNINGS:  Partner rape, dub con, bondage.<br/>SUMMARY: After Vulcan, Kirk and Spock begin to explore every aspect of their love for each other.  It seemed easy--in the beginning. But each had needs the other did not understand.<br/>Originally published in the print fanzine “Dark Fire” # 1 (2004)<br/>BETAS:  T’Guess and J S Cavalcante</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He hated to watch Spock’s face. 

He kept his eyes clenched shut; he didn’t want to see what wasn’t there. What he knew could be there.

Kirk gasped out his pleasure, his cock screaming its delight from within the tight confines of Spock’s feverishly hot body. But it was not enough. Would never be enough. Not after Kirk had experienced what was possible. In his mind, he clung to the vision of Spock’s face contorted with absolute pleasure, his eyes smoldering with fervor, his body arching off the bed in wild abandonment. But that image lived only in Kirk’s memory He fucked Spock harder.

Feel this. I need you to feel this.

He forced his eyes open. Was it there: that look he desperately wanted to see?

Spock’s dark eyes, only inches from his own, watched him, and Kirk could read the love in them, the willingness. The devotion.

Everything but passion. Everything but need. Everything that should have been enough —but wasn’t.

Half-hard, the Vulcan cock lay between them, and he pressed down against it, then rested all his weight on one arm, reached out his other hand to enclose that hardness, to stroke firmly, determinedly, roughly, root to tip, again. Again.

Is this what you need to fully give yourself to me?What will it take before you respond?

Spock’s eyes closed; a minute change in expression crossed his face—and he stirred slightly beneath Kirk. The reaction filled Kirk with hope, and he doubled the pace of his strokes, vigorously sliding his increasingly tight grip along Spock’s semi-flaccid organ in time to each thrust.

Pull out. Stroke. Push in. Stroke. Harder. Faster.

Spock gasped, and Kirk’s cock surged at the exhilarating sound; he pressed his lips against Spock’s to devour the remnants of that breathless inhalation, desperate for more.

But there was no more—and after a few minutes, he couldn’t deny what his hand felt—that Vulcan cock was not responding. He was consumed with disappointment, remembering in his hand, in his cells, what it felt like when Spock was fully erect, fully needful, fully with him in lust, in desire, as well as love.

And in that moment, it was easy to pull his head away from Spock’s face; easy to close his eyes again and to deny the reality of that too-controlled expression—far too painfully easy, with the blood singing in his ears, pleasure racing along every nerve and his cock at the bursting point.

“I love you,” he groaned as his climax hit and his passion surged into the quiet body beneath his. The mind-numbing intensity of the orgasm obliterated his frustration and disappointment, and he reached hungrily for it, wanting the nothingness of blissful forgetfulness.

He poured all of his desire into the depths of his lover, then spent and exhausted, he collapsed upon Spock’s still body, panting heavily. As soon as he could catch his breath, he gently rolled to one side and opened his eyes. He looked over, his gaze sweeping down Spock’s lean frame, stopping at the thick patch of black hair covering his groin.

Spock’s erection was gone, the green-tinged cock now quiescent, limp. Kirk knew he hadn’t come. Hadn’t even been close.

When he looked up, Spock’s eyes were upon him, a gentle smile turning up the corners of his lips. Even in the half-light of the room, his dark irises radiated with utter devotion. “I love you,” he echoed Kirk’s words of moments before.

That low, deep voice, those amazing words, just for him. When Spock had first said those words to him, it had been the most beautiful, precious gift, a treasure without compare. He hadn’t understood, at first: those words had been a gift given in exchange for one withdrawn. 

Kirk kissed Spock’s lips gently, then, overwhelmed with aftermath and sorrow, not knowing what to say, or even if it should be said, Kirk sank into a doze.

An eternity later, he woke, determined. I’m not going to let you get away with this again.

Spock had moved onto his side and was lying against him, the full length of his body arranged against Kirk as if Spock were determined to have contact with every bit of skin he could manage to touch. One arm was around Kirk’s waist. Spock’s eyes were closed, but Kirk knew he wasn’t sleeping. Kirk moved onto his side, gently finding his lover’s lips with his own. Spock’s eyelids remained closed, but his hot mouth yielded willingly, opened to Kirk’s. Kirk gently drew his tongue over the soft lips, then sent it intruding into the other man’s mouth, mapping the slick hard feel of teeth, the muscle of another tongue as it met and moved with his. Kirk placed one arm around the lean body and rested a hand in the center of Spock’s back, circling and rubbing comfortingly, and Spock matched the gesture with his own embrace, the large hand tracing patterns on Kirk’s skin. Kirk broke from the kiss to look into that beloved face.

Spock opened his eyes and curved his lips up slightly. It was staggering to see so much unshielded emotion in those inky eyes: loyalty, fidelity, reverence, adoration, and most important of all, uncompromising love. Kirk knew he didn’t deserve it; not any of it. He did not deserve the gifts Spock was giving him, and yet he remained desperate for what had been withdrawn. 

Kirk lovingly trailed his hand against the hard muscle of Spock’s back, running his fingers lightly down the Vulcan’s spine. Stretching languidly, graceful as a cat, Spock surrendered to the sensation.

Using the same gentle touch, Kirk explored the shape of an ear, lingering on the point. His tongue followed, tracing the whorls, exploring the intricate shape slowly. Now skin to skin, groin to groin, Kirk could feel the soft flesh begin to harden against the crook of his thigh.

He moved back into a kiss, capturing a tiny sigh of pleasure, meeting it with one of his own. But when he pulled back a bit, the dark steady gaze, only inches from his own, was shadowed with an expression that admitted need. And beneath it lay a trace of fear.

Kirk smiled to himself, determined. No, you’re not going to get away with it. There is nothing to fear. You’re going to enjoy it this time. I want you to feel everything that I do to you.

Knowing Spock felt safest on his back, Kirk urged him to roll over. He moved down the bed, gently caressing shoulders and the strong pecs. He savored the wiry texture of chest hair against his thumbs and felt the rough scratch as he applied his tongue. The hard bud of a greenish nipple invited him to taste. He flicked it quickly, felt Spock’s chest expand with a sharp intake of breath. Taking the nipple in his teeth, he bit gently, and then bit down again, less gently.

A half-strangled moan escaped from Spock’s lips, and then he was silent again. His relaxed, almost complacent composure was slowly eroding, replaced by a growing tension that became clearly defined in the taut line of muscles under his skin. The tension spread: through his arms, chest, abdomen and, finally, it infused his groin. Kirk could feel the fever-hot erection press against his belly.

Did you will that hard-on? Did you control that, as well, because you knew I wanted you aroused, hot for me? It doesn’t matter. I’ll make you feel this.

Kirk moved lower, kissing his way down the hairy chest, rubbing his face against that wiry scratchiness. He paused to dip his tongue into Spock’s shallow navel, lingering there as he used one hand to tease the other nipple. He could feel the rapid flutter of the Vulcan heartbeat, could hear Spock’s breaths became shorter, less even. His other hand moved lower, claiming the heat and hardness of the firming penis. He explored with gentle strokes, lightly touching that overheated skin, delighted as it hardened further.

Kirk moved lower still, pausing to blow short puffs of breath against Spock’s now taut penis. Fully erect, it was flushed a dusky green along the shaft, while the head was a darker forest shade. It invited his tongue to worship it as something precious, something rare. He lavished attention on it with every bit of his skill, sometimes licking it with quick teasing darts from his tongue, then sucking hard, moving his mouth onto the shaft and back again. Although Spock’s breath came more quickly now, when Kirk paused and looked up there was barely a trace of expression on Spock’s face. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted; his hands, curled tightly against the sheets, had not strayed more than an inch or two from his sides.

Kirk turned his attention to Spock’s plump balls, loving the texture of the wiry hair covering soft skin, opening his mouth wide to explore each roundness. He explored them thoroughly, then he concentrated on Spock’s now iron-hard cock, taking it as deeply into his throat as he could. Moving his mouth back and forth along the rigid shaft, he adeptly used his tongue to press against the underside. Tension increased; Spock’s shaft grew rock-solid, swelling suddenly in length and width. He laved the straining flesh rigorously, then clamped his lips around the head and sucked hard. Instantly, he was rewarded with a sudden shudder and a choked-off gasp, and Spock’s hips snapped higher. The impossibly hard cock surged and Spock came. Hot, so hot—the taste of Vulcan seed filled his mouth and he took it all in, swallowing in satisfaction; he’d never tasted anything better. As he tongued the softening organ carefully, he felt Spock collapse back against the bed.

He moved back up to pattern himself against Spock’s body, resting his head on Spock’s shoulders. The Vulcan’s eyes slitted open and they were bright with unspoken gratitude. But Kirk knew the appreciation resulted as much from relief from fear as it did from the release of pleasure. You made it through one more orgasm without completely losing control. You came, one more time, without hurting me. 

We’re going to have to find some way to deal with this, Kirk thought bleakly. But Spock had closed his eyes again, one long-fingered hand twining itself with Kirk’s fingers, squeezing softly. A hand that could twist metal. A hand that could effortlessly snap a neck. A hand that had, once, left marks on Kirk’s body, but they were marks that had easily healed.

If only we could heal this… We’ve got to talk about it, Kirk thought. But Spock had found refuge in sleep, and that, too, Kirk knew was less from aftermath, then because his lover did not want this conversation.

What an ungrateful bastard you are, Kirk. He’s giving you everything he can. More than you ever expected to have. Why ask for what he can’t give.

Not ‘can’t’—won’t. He can give this. We’ve experienced it. It’s because he’s not willing. He’s afraid. 

Kirk had no idea how to break though that fear. 

He had no idea how long he could live with his increasingly guilt. He felt like he was using Spock, and worse, he was doing it was with Spock’s full consent. Kirk had always prided himself on the fact that his lovers received as much, if not more, pleasure than he did. He couldn’t fathom a relationship that wasn’t equally gratifying for both, couldn’t abide even the idea that his partner was engaging in sex only to please him. Tonight, Spock had allowed himself to come; he had climaxed, yes, but without passion, without enthusiasm. He had done so only to alleviate Kirk’s frustration, to ease Kirk’s disappointment, to persuade him that everything was all right. But short-term fixes, however selfless on Spock’s part, wouldn’t work, and he was beginning to resent Spock for putting him in this position, for letting him always take.

The only reason Kirk was still willing to take the crumbs Spock was able to give was because everything had been so good at the beginning. Perfect. He had been the luckiest bastard in the universe, and he’d known it. Now each time they made love, he held on to the fervent wish that this time would be different, this time he could break through, this time Spock would trust himself enough to finally let go.

But each time ended the same, leaving him feeling even more guilt-ridden and miserable.

I can’t do this anymore, not if I have any respect for myself, not if I love you, Spock. 

Either he would find a solution—or he would do the unthinkable, which was to let Spock go. He knew in the long run that guilt would turn to shame and self-loathing.

Against all the protests of his heart, against the pain he would have to suffer, Kirk would willingly leave Spock before that ever happened. He would have to let Spock go.

* * * * *

 

A mountain of datacubes awaited Kirk’s review. It was the same after every mission—a report from every member of the landing party, plus ongoing ship’s scans of the planet in question, both automatic and manual. These, combined with the usual ship’s reports, meant lots of hours spent in his quarters, absorbing what had happened, combining it with his own perspective and judgment. Then—another task he did not look forward to—writing his own report. 

At least this time, there would be no letters of condolence to write. Something he was very grateful for.

It had actually turned out to be a fun mission—something rare and welcome. He and Spock had worked together perfectly, as always in sync, attuned to each other. He was grateful that any problems in their private lives were having no impact on their public ones. 

He chose Ensign Cho’s report first, listened attentively, then signed off and reached for the next datacube.

It was Spock’s report, and he paused, cube in hand.

They remained the perfect team. Every mission together emphasized and strengthened their ability to anticipate and provide what was needed to succeed. They could damn near read each other’s minds, even without a mental link or bond. They might as well be bonded. Kirk wondered if, despite Spock’s denials, they already were.

Kirk began playing Spock’s datacube and made some private notes on his own report while listening. Just as the report concluded, he froze the image mid-word and looked at the picture of his first officer on the screen.

Spock’s mouth was half open, eyes alight with what was professional interest. The screen had captured an expression of openness on the usually stern face. Kirk lingered over the image. 

He’d had fantasies about Spock almost from the moment of meeting his unapproachable first officer. Momentary daydreams, intrigue about that alien body, what sex would be like with a Vulcan; what it would be like to get someone that controlled to really let loose. 

Fantasies, yes. Reality became his need to work through and past those myriad defenses; reality became the best friendship he’d ever had.

But sex? Yes, he’d continued to speculate, but those had been idle thoughts, the kind that popped into his head any time he saw an attractive body.

And Spock’s body was attractive. How much so, he hadn’t realized, until after Vulcan.

After Vulcan… He remembered how his awareness of Spock’s body had suddenly escalated into an intense realization of Spock as a physical being. As a sexual being. Of the heat that radiated off that thin body, of his strength, his solidity. He had touched Spock before, held him before, due to the demands of a mission. But after Vulcan…

The sheer intensity of Vulcan needs—now seemingly left behind on that hot arid world—had left a backwash in Kirk’s mind, and now when he was in Spock’s presence it was difficult to keep these intrusive thoughts out of his head. 

What would it be like, to lick one of those ears, to suck on the point? Even thinking about it made him hard. What would it be like to kiss that mouth, that desirable lower lip; put his hands on the compact ass, run his fingers through that black hair, disordering it… Those long elegant hands, reaching out, wrapping around his cock… Those strong arms and legs, tight around him… After Altair, he had spent quite a number of uncomfortable, embarrassing moments in his command chair, willing his hard-on to diminish.

What would Spock look like, fully erect? He’d seen Spock naked—in the gym shower, on landing parties—but never erect. But he already knew that hardness. He had seen it, outlined in the black trousers, as they approached Vulcan. He had felt it pressed against him as they fought in the place of kalifee. As Spock had grappled with him, tried to choke the life from him, that implacable hardness had pressed against him, rubbed against him even as Spock tried to murder him.

His mind had been besieged by endless fantasies, generated by the electric tension that lay between them. When they looked at each other, their gazes caught, held in an intensity that lasted moments longer than ship’s business or even friendship required. His hands had found so many more ways to reach out and touch Spock: an arm, a shoulder, a brief brushing of his fingertips against the velour of his shirt, communicating friendship, leaving possibilities open that another human would have understood.

Spock was finding ways to touch him just as casually. If Spock had been another human, it would have been easy to read the message being communicated. 

Though neither of them said a word beyond what was needed for their own continuing friendship, something unspoken became very clear to him: He loved Spock. He desired Spock, wanted him in every way.

But did Spock feel the same way? Was he deluding himself when he thought he saw interest shining back from those beautiful brown eyes?

Beautiful. Odd word to use for his lanky, very male first officer. Handsome, yes. Good to look at. But in certain lights—yes, beautiful was the only word he could use.

Those glances. Kirk knew that his own eyes were asking a question. And so, he thought, was Spock.

But was it the same question—and could it have an answer? How to say it? What words could he use to break the barriers of Vulcan reticence, traditions, needs? For all he knew, Spock had already rebonded with some Vulcan woman—and that was the end of it. After Altair, during their stopover at Rigel, Spock had spent some time at the Vulcan Embassy. Perhaps, even now, some clear-eyed, calm, rational Vulcan woman awaited Spock’s next Time, and Kirk would never know the touch of those hands in passion.

And if Spock had rebonded, Kirk knew that, just as with T’Pring, Spock would not speak of it unless it became absolutely necessary.

During the day, Kirk kept his silence. It would be best to restrict the attraction to an unspoken flirtation, to keep their heightened awareness undefined. He could think of a dozen reasons why having sex with his first officer was a bad idea—but at night, alone in his quarters, none of them carried any weight against the force of his longing.

He would have to deal with his desire on his own. And love? It was far, far too late to deny to himself what he felt. He’d recognized long ago that Spock was the most important person in his life. How and why it had happened, he wasn’t sure. But he’d known, absolutely, at Vulcan, that the choice between his career and Spock’s life was no choice at all. It had only been a short step from that to realizing the truth about his feelings. He loved Spock. And he wasn’t going to do anything about it....

Kirk realized he was still staring at Spock’s face on the monitor. He should continue working—should not give in to this weariness that threatened to seize his body. But his mind insisted on replaying images, and he indulged himself. If only they could recapture what they had had at the very beginning when it was simple, uncomplicated, joyful, and so very right.


	2. Chapter 2

* * * * *

 

When it had happened, it had been with the astonishing ease of the most casual sex encounter Kirk had ever had.

They’d been wrestling in the ship’s gym. They’d done it before, dozens of times. Hundreds. Their workouts were almost choreographed rituals, though Kirk always tried to vary the routine with the unexpected. As with his unorthodox approach to their chess games, he loved finding ways to surprise Spock. 

He’d recently been having workouts with Gonzales, as well, and the brawny security officer had showed him some new moves that he’d picked up during heavy gravity training.  
Kirk tried one on Spock—who quickly countered. Grappling, they rolled and rolled again, their faces inches apart. Then Spock shifted position, breaking Kirk’s hold with a quick movement of his shoulder and hip, and Kirk found himself on his back, with Spock lying full-length on top of him, and for a moment he couldn’t think of any countermove. 

Everything stilled. Kirk was intensely aware of the heat of the Vulcan body on top of his, the strength of Spock’s hands and legs keeping him immobile. As he tried to move, Spock gripped his arms, using the weight of his body to keep Kirk motionless. Spock’s face was close enough to kiss; if Kirk lifted his head, just slightly, he could discover the texture of those lips, now curved in an almost indiscernible smile. He stared up into the dark brown eyes. Spock was watching him, and there was something open and needful in that gaze.

Kirk found himself as hard as he had ever been, his needy cock straining against his trousers. I can’t do this, some rational part of his mind thought. I can’t kiss Spock. 

Spock had to be aware of Kirk’s hard-on, but that was nothing new; he always got hard during workouts, no matter whom he was grappling with. But now, staring into those dark eyes that were intently focused on his own, feeling the weight of that hot body against his, Spock’s hard belly trapping his erection—his cork surged and his balls tightened to the point of bursting. Panicked, he realized he was close to coming.

His face flushed with embarrassment, he hastily moved to break the hold, to somehow redirect his arousal into a pure energy, anything to stop the eruption that could happen at any moment. Grappling, twisting, he used every trick he knew to throw off an opponent with superior strength. Then they were rolling again, and now Kirk was on top, and he was smiling into Spock’s eyes, careless of his movements—until he realized that his cock, through the layers of fabric between them, was pressed to a hardness equal to his own.

He froze. Spock was also erect. That had never happened before! For a long second he held Spock’s gaze. The brown eyes held surprise, heat. Neither man said a word. The only decision—press forward—or pull away…

Decision and action were simultaneous. Kirk pressed forward just as Spock did the same. Kirk felt the astonishing heat and mahogany hardness of Spock’s erection through their tight gym clothes. He managed not to rub and thrust—suddenly aware of the sounds around them and of the very public place they were in.

“My quarters?” Kirk breathed, half-disbelieving the words even as he spoke then.

Spock inclined his head minutely, interest in those dark eyes and in that erection that jerked harder and higher against Kirk’s. Kirk had to pull away; he was intensely aware he could come in seconds. 

Spock rose with fluid grace; Kirk took a quick glance and realized that although there was a trace of a greenish flush on the normally austere face, the tight workout clothing revealed no visible sign of the Vulcan’s arousal. He found himself envying that ability; he wasn’t looking forward to the cold shower that he would have to take in order to walk the halls back to his cabin. 

Somehow they managed to shower and change back into their uniforms, but the barely held-off lust was a fevered haze across his vision as they traversed the corridors between the gym and his quarters. He greeted crewmembers as they passed, even exchanging a joke with Giotto as they entered the turbolift, but all the while he felt as though there were a cord of electricity connecting him to Spock. Every inch of his skin sizzled with need.

Scarcely had the door to his cabin shut, a bare second after he commanded it to lock, before Spock’s body pressed against his. Did I ever imagine you’d be shy? Kirk wondered. Then thought fled as he grabbed Spock, pulled him closer, and pressed their mouths together. Spock’s mouth opened immediately, and Kirk’s tongue explored the furnace heat of those welcoming depths. Spock groaned into his mouth, and he jerked his hips, grinding his cock against Kirk’s. Lightheaded, Kirk shoved against him, grabbing that strong, thin body tight against his, his pelvis humping and rubbing against Spock’s hardness. 

Kirk gasped with frustration as he managed to pull back. He was ready to come, his balls on fire, screaming with need. “Spock,” he managed, voice rough. “Let’s go to bed?”

He was able to make it a question. Spock pushed back against him, seeking another kiss, and his iron-hard erection ground against Kirk’s, giving its own answer. 

Then Spock found some control and pulled back as well. “Affirmative.” Spock’s eyes were half-shut, face flushed a pale green. He managed to focus on Kirk’s face. “I have desired this,” he confessed, keeping Kirk’s gaze.

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.” Kirk’s hand sought Spock’s; the long fingers meshed with his. 

“As have I.” Spock’s fingers tightened around his.

A moment later, they fell onto Kirk’s narrow bed, rolling, arms and legs fitting against each other in an awkward tangle that sorted itself out quickly. Kirk wound up on top, grinning down at his first officer.

Spock’s hair was disarrayed. His lips had curved into a smile, and his eyes were full of amazement and desire. Kirk laid a hand against the front of Spock’s trousers, feeling the shape and heat of the alien erection beneath the black material. 

“Jim.” Spock squeezed his eyes shut, his strong hands digging into Kirk’s upper arms.

“Let’s get rid of the clothing.” They rolled back off the bed. Kirk divested himself of his uniform as quickly as possible, tossing everything in some random direction while Spock still was removing and folding his tunic and undershirt.

Spock paused, and after an instant’s hesitation he pushed off his boots and trousers as quickly as Kirk had done. He immediately reclined on the bed, lying on one side.

Kirk joined him and took in a quick glance of that extraordinary naked body before his gaze zeroed on the generously proportioned and very rigid cock. His hand followed immediately, taking the dark olive length into his fist. He rubbed and stroked from root to crown, his thumb lingering for an instant on the head, which deepened from dusky olive into a rich shade of forest green. Spock threw his head back and thrust his pelvis forward. Kirk withdrew his hand and moved over to cover Spock’s body, pushing him gently onto his back, squeezing one shoulder, and fitted a hand beneath Spock’s neck, tilting his head up to claim a kiss. Kirk gasped as their groins met.

Spock’s mouth opened to his; Spock’s firm hands grabbed his ass and his shoulder and pulled him down full-length on his body. The fierce determination of his erection probed Kirk’s belly.

Kirk matched himself to that hardness and sighed as intense pleasure shot through his cock and tension gathered in his balls. He reached his hand between them, grasping their cocks together. I want to suck you; I want to fuck you, Kirk whispered, or thought, he didn’t know which. Spock groaned, a deep animal sound. His face contorted with ecstasy and Kirk felt the other’s cock jerk against his. Spock’s head thrashed against the pillows, his breath coming in furious gasps as hot liquid jetted against Kirk’s flesh. His brain whiting out with the realization of what he’d done to Spock, Kirk instantly climaxed. Fire exploded in his mind, his cock, his balls. He heard himself gasp out, “I love you,” and collapsed against Spock.

Long moments later, he became aware of the feel of a hairy chest scratchy against his own smooth chest, and suddenly the amazing, unbelievable thought, I just had sex with Spock awakened his brain.

He opened his eyes and found Spock regarding him, an unreadable expression on the angular face, and for a moment fear hit him. What if he regrets this? 

Kirk pulled away carefully. There was a moment of discomfort as their bodies, sealed together by copious amounts of sticky fluids, hesitated to part. He settled down on his side, then leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Spock’s forehead. 

Spock moved onto his side as well, and continued to watch Kirk’s face.

Kirk hesitated, unsure what to say. He felt a wave of embarrassment—he usually was polite enough to ask what his partners wanted first. He settled on, “Are you OK?” 

“I could not be better, Jim.” That low voice, now roughened with the remnants of passion, instantly reassured Kirk. That, and the softening of the lips, and the way the smile lit Spock’s eyes more than it ever did his mouth.

Kirk leaned over and kissed that mouth, and suddenly found himself on top of Spock again, trading gentle kisses. “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages,” he whispered.

“I, also,” Spock managed, between kisses, angling and positioning his head to explore Kirk’s mouth. 

“I’ve been wanting to do other things as well,” Kirk confessed. 

“I, also.” Spock’s lips curved into a genuine smile now. Kirk could hear the laughter in that voice, the warmth, the love.

“I have quite a list of planned activities.” Kirk grinned, already picturing himself inside Spock. Or Spock inside him. He settled to Spock’s side, molding his body close against the other man.

“Indeed. I foresee much pleasure in accomplishing these tasks.” One of Spock’s hands was caressing his lower back, an idle brushing of fingers against cooling skin.

“We may have to engage in these activities many times.” He caught an earlobe between his teeth and worried it gently, loving Spock’s gasp and the way his long body shifted restlessly on the bed.

“Repetition is necessary for mastery of a task.” Spock intoned the words solemnly, if somewhat breathlessly.

“In fact...” Kirk moved to straddle Spock’s body and bent to lick at Spock’s throat, “...we may need...” his tongue found a pathway down the center of Spock’s chest, “...to continue practicing...” he pressed his tongue against a verdant nipple, “...each activity diligently.”

“Frequent repetition of any physical activity is, of course, necessary to maintain peak condition.”

Kirk laughed and reclaimed Spock’s mouth, which met his with equal tenderness. Kirk managed to pull back for a second, “I have just one question…”

“Only one?” Spock quirked an eyebrow at him, but unshielded amusement was apparent in his eyes.

“One to start with,” Kirk grinned, then he asked more seriously, “What took us so long?”

Spock hesitated, and Kirk smiled at the oddly puzzled expression on his first officer’s face. “Unknown. I cannot give you an answer. Jim, I wished to speak to you of this possibility, but I did not know how.”

Kirk, filled with sudden tenderness, stroked the smooth blackness of Spock’s hair, then rested the back of one hand against Spock’s face. “I didn’t either, Spock.”

Both eyebrows rose. “You…?”

Kirk gave a rueful laugh. “I know I’m supposed to be good at this.” He gave Spock a gentle, chaste kiss, then pulled back to look into the still-puzzled eyes. “But I’ve come to realize you mean more to me than anyone I’ve ever known.” He hesitated, then went for honesty. He’d already said the words. It was important Spock understand he meant them; that they weren’t simply spoken in the heat of passion, and forgotten immediately afterwards. “I love you, Spock.”

Spock stilled, and Kirk found tension shifting inside him. “I didn’t know how to tell you that. I didn’t know if you would want to hear it.”

Spock nodded. “I do—want to hear it, Jim.” He hesitated. “But I am not quite sure what to say in return.”

Kirk moved his fingers gently against Spock’s face. “That has to be the most difficult part of our language for you—the words dealing with emotion.”

Spock nodded, a human gesture Kirk had rarely seen him make. “I have found it best to avoid the use of those particular words. I know them in Vulcan, I did not need to use human terms for what is forbidden to express.”

“Forbidden. Spock…” Kirk could feel a threatening sadness and pushed it aside. 

Spock covered Kirk’s fingers with his own. “I have—set aside many things that were required of me in the past. My presence on this ship is proof of that.” He hesitated, and gathered Kirk’s fingers in his and shifted them slightly, until the backs of Kirk’s knuckles were against his lips. “My presence in your bed is proof of that,” he whispered, and Kirk shuddered at the touch of Spock’s breath against his skin, the movement of those lips against his fingers, and suddenly desire was a hard jolt, an electric tingle on his skin, his entire body felt alive with it. Astonished, he realized he was hard again.

Spock’s mouth fell open, against his hand, and he felt the wet touch of Spock’s tongue against his skin. Then Spock’s mouth closed around two of his fingers and sucked, hard. Shuddering, Kirk pulled back, and gazed down at Spock’s erection, easily the match of his own. “Spock,” he managed, his voice a bit shaky.

Spock released his fingers, but still held then close to his face. He looked up into Kirk’s eyes, a warm light in his gaze. “Yes, Jim.” 

“Remember I mentioned a list of planned activities?”

“Yes, Jim.” Kirk felt a slight smile against his captured hand.

“Let’s start right now.”

Spock’s voice was as low as Kirk had ever heard it. “Yes, Jim.” He reached out to pull Kirk’s body against his.

* * * * *

 

Kirk stared at the frozen image of Spock on the data screen. Yes. Perfect. He’d never forget going down on Spock for the first time, the way that fever-hot cock had responded to the motions of his tongue, the action of his throat. Spock’s abandoned response had fueled his own need. He’d almost come just at the sound of Spock’s deep voice gasping out Kirk’s name at the final thrust. Then there had come the burst of liquid in Kirk’s mouth and the shuddering gasp as Spock fell back against the bed.

Kirk, achingly hard, had moved up and onto his side to lie next to Spock. Spock’s eyes had been closed, his face relaxed in half-sleep. Spock had taken a few uneven breaths at first, then quieted; he had lain lax and sated in Kirk’s embrace for some moments. Kirk studied him, loving the look of peace on Spock’s face, the way his features seemed so young in the dim cabin light. From his position, he studied the intricacies of a pointed ear and the way the light picked out highlights in the black hair. Finally Spock opened his eyes. His expression—love and tenderness—filled Kirk with joy. His body responded by stabbing out his need against Spock’s hip.

“Jim, that was…” Spock whispered, “I had no idea it would feel like that…”

Kirk looked at him with some surprise. “You haven’t done this before?” Kirk felt inordinately pleased with himself that he’d introduced his friend to this pleasure.

Spock’s eyes were smiling. “I have not.” One hand reached out and began examining the texture of Kirk’s hair. Then he moved, gentling Kirk over so Jim lay on his back. Spock claimed his mouth in a kiss. Kirk kissed back fiercely, loving the feel of Spock over him, the length of that slender body covering his. Spock followed Kirk’s lead in kissing for a few moments, and then moved lower, carefully copying every caress Kirk had given him, paying particular loving attention to each nipple, nibbling and sucking, until Kirk was about to scream and plead for those hot lips to enfold his cock. And then they did.

Gods, but it was good. Astonishingly good. Spock’s lips and tongue and throat worked on him with an expertise that astounded him and flooded him with pleasure; he hadn’t wanted to let go, to thrust into that virgin mouth, but he couldn’t help it. Spock’s mouth and throat caught and fulfilled his need, swallowed around his hardness and suddenly he was coming and Spock’s mouth didn’t move away, but took him in completely; he felt himself soar over the peak of desire and down and beyond and Spock was with him all the way.

When he finally came back to his senses, he found himself saying, “I would never have guessed you hadn’t done that before.” He shut his mouth on the tactlessness of his remark. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why should you not?” Spock, now lying by his side, looked genuinely puzzled, and Kirk, struggling against lassitude, now found himself in the difficult position of trying to explain complex cultural mores. “It’s not considered, um—polite. You had just said you hadn’t experienced this before—and now I implied that you have. That’s very bad manners on my part.”

“Ah.” Spock contemplated him. “I am sorry to have been inaccurate. Both my statements and yours are true. I have performed fellatio on five men in the past, and successfully brought them to orgasm. I had not, however, experienced it myself.”

Kirk was suddenly and angrily jealous. “Those selfish bastards! Who were they?”

“Three were cadets at Starfleet Academy and two were on my first ship assignment.” Spock’s voice was its ordinary inflectionless tone; it did not betray any undue concern.

“I can’t believe they would just use you and not give you pleasure in return.” Kirk sat upright, very aware how much anger his face and posture were revealing. Selfish bastards...And why am I so goddamn angry now? 

Spock’s expression changed to one of concern. His hand, which had been tangled in Kirk’s hair, withdrew; he laced his fingers together and rested his hands on his stomach. “It was my wish to do it for them. It was not possible for them to reciprocate. They did make the attempt, however.”

Kirk pushed past his anger and focused on confusion. “I don’t understand.” 

Spock’s dark eyes regarded him, revealing a trace of his own confusion and concern. “I was curious.” Spock pulled himself up and leaned against the headboard. “Humans set such store on sexual experience.”

Kirk managed a rueful grin at that observation. 

Spock’s gaze searched his face, and Kirk read a trace of uncertainty in Spock’s features. He took one of Spock’s hands in his.

Spock looked down at their intertwined fingers and swallowed. “At the time, I was not only curious about human sexuality, but also… confused regarding my identity. As part human, living among humans, I attempted to… integrate in certain ways.” He hesitated, then met Kirk’s gaze again. “I studied human sexual practices, and, while I was at the Academy, chose to accept propositions from three male and four female cadets. I spaced each encounter several months apart.”

Kirk tightened his grip on Spock’s hand, and Spock returned the gesture. “I had hoped that, by allowing sufficient time between each encounter, my body might respond, and that I would be able to react as a human. I continued these explorations while at the Academy, and during the first two years of ship assignment.” His voice became low and quiet and Kirk heard a bleak undertone to his words. “I had theorized that, if I could achieve satisfaction with a human partner, I would be spared the Time. I was in error. At no point did I experience sexual arousal myself. Since then, I have had a number of offers to engage in sexual congress, and have respectfully declined.”

Kirk looked at him in astonishment. “You mean…you never…What about Leila? I had assumed…”

“You had assumed?” Spock’s eyebrow dramatically inched upward.

Kirk, for the first time in many years, found himself furiously blushing. “I, um, had assumed the two of you had… had sexual intercourse.”

“While she did desire it, I was not capable at that time. I was able to give her pleasure with my hands and my mouth; it was an experience I benefited from.”

“Even without feeling any sexual response yourself?”

He pressed Kirk’s hand. “It did not matter. She felt everything for both of us. I could see it in her face, hear it in her voice, feel it in her movements, and perceive it in the energy emanating from her body. It pleased me to give her that. I found the process satisfying.”

“And she—didn’t she want to do the same for you?”

“She understood she could not. There was no sadness on that world. She had no regrets.”

“You were both drugged at the time.” Kirk contemplated the ferocious haze of jealousy he’d experienced at Omicron Ceti 3. There had been an overwhelmingly savage sense of betrayal and loss; a white-hot nova of anger from being deserted. By his crew. But, most importantly—by Spock.

But that was in the past, and Leila’s loss was definitely his gain. “Those other women...at the Academy...”

“They were disappointed in me. The men seemed less concerned about my lack of response, and more concerned with their own.”

“And now you can respond.”

“Yes. Since my Time, I am fully capable.”

“Spock…” Kirk took a long fingered hand in his, kissed it. “The other night—was that your first time?”

“Affirmative.” Dark eyes studied him. “You will tell me if I am not doing these things properly, will you not?”

“Spock…I don’t think anyone could do them better.” He trailed his fingers across an angular cheekbone, explored the surprising softness of Spock’s lips. Spock’s mouth opened to his fingers, kissing, and he enjoyed the caress, his passion sated for now. 

He was suddenly filled with a sense of awe at how completely love and desire had merged. He leaned forward and put his mouth to Spock’s, felt the acceptance, and the love.

Kirk fell back against the bed, absurdly satisfied with himself. He smiled at Spock, remembering his overpowering jealousy of Leila. It felt much better to pity her—to pity all those nameless cadets. He settled back into sleep, still filled with the wonder of being the first to bring Spock pleasure.

* * * * *

 

Kirk shook himself out of his reverie and set Spock’s report to “play” again. Spock’s image came back to life on the monitor, and Kirk heard the final words of Spock’s planetary survey. Just hearing that deep voice now carried a sexual charge, no matter how dry and scientific the topic was. That sexual awareness was entangled with a complex mesh of emotion—desire, loss, hope, despair. They both kept trying to solve the problem that lay between them, and kept failing to meet in the middle. It was like a misengineered piece of machinery where the parts did not match, or a miskeyed lock.

Relationships could go badly. He knew that as well as anyone. He spared a thought for Carol Marcus, for Janice Lester. But he had never cared for them—not the way he did for Spock. He had never loved them as he loved Spock. He’d been with so many women, had thought he’d been in love once or twice, but always the lure of space called to his soul, and it seemed he’d always chosen women who, for whatever reason, couldn’t follow him.

And men... Kirk had always enjoyed a cock up his ass, a good uncomplicated fucking, but this was so much more. It had only been plain unemotional sex with other men. He and Gary had had good times together, and he thought he’d known the extent of friendship then, but nothing in this life had combined the fire and intensity and need and sheer glorious love of being with Spock.

No other person had equaled being with Spock. Not even Edith; from the moment he realized his feelings for her, they had been shot through with regret and sorrow at the inevitable parting. Even thinking about her still caused him pain; he had encapsulated her memory and image inside some hard cold shell inside himself. Until he and Spock had started their relationship, Edith’s memory remained too excruciating to touch. Now, with the knowledge of Spock’s touch on his body, Spock’s love in his eyes, he found he could actually look at his memories of her and begin to say goodbye.

“At his side, as if you've always been there and always will…” In some way, she’d known, even as he had known, what this man meant to him, though neither of them would have guessed at the depth of his feelings.

He froze the monitor again, on the final image of Spock, report now finished. Spock was looking down at something on his console, probably the switch to end the recording. Kirk backed the recording up, until Spock was looking directly at the monitor. That presence, always at his shoulder, always supporting him even when challenging his decisions; always there for him in a way no one had ever been before. How quickly love and lust had merged. Those intriguing eyes, so very expressive when they were alone, that mouth that he loved to taste, the slant of brow inviting his touch, the curve of ear, inviting his tongue. Those large hands—strong, skilled, as good as giving his body pleasure as they were working with the ship’s instruments. And they had tried everything. Kirk remembered the awe and power of first penetrating Spock’s body. The joy in letting Spock inside his own.

Kirk realized he’d been staring at the computer screen far too long; that he was touching the flat smooth coldness of the monitor with his fingertips, brushing them against Spock’s face, at the points where Vulcans touched to merge their minds.

To merge minds with an alien lover—how odd, to desire something no human being could instinctively need or know. How ironic, to desire the one thing that Spock himself did not want. How paradoxical—that this had been the beginning of the trouble between them—over something they had never had between them, and now, most likely, never would. 

Perhaps if Spock had refused the mission to Cygnus Delta...

But Kirk acknowledged the truth: the issue would have come up sooner or later. It was inevitable. Even if he were handed the universe on a plate, Kirk knew he would always want more.

Kirk could not let himself evade his own ultimate responsibility. He had had a choice to make; if not on Cygnus Delta, then on Anton’s World. And the consequences of that choice were still reverberating around him.


	3. Chapter 3

* * * * *

 

They resumed their exploratory mission two weeks after finally getting all the delegates delivered to Coridan. They’d had to spend extra time at Coridan; getting the delegates settled in had been the easy part—completing all the reports the bureaucracy had required on the Orion spy incident on board ship had taken twice as long. Then, finally, they were underway again, and after a stop on Rigel, continued on their way to their next assignment, mining treaty negotiations on Capella IV. But before they were even halfway there, a call came in from Fleet Captain Nogura, coded Private, to be viewed only by the Captain and his First Officer.

Kirk suppressed a flash of irritation. He was still feeling unsettled from the trip to the Babel conference. Having his ship filled with wrangling ambassadors was not his idea of a good time, and he was not in the mood for any more bureaucratic missions. He wanted to get back to what he and his crew did best: exploration.

He breathed one sigh of relief: at least it wasn’t Komack

Nogura was the new Fleet Captain; and although Kirk didn’t have any personal experience with him, he’d heard the man was competent.

“Page Mr. Spock and have him meet me in my quarters,” he told Uhura as he entered the turbolift, his hand reaching for the controls.

Since they were traveling through well-charted space, and wouldn’t reach Capella IV for another three weeks, Spock had been spending his time in the labs, completely engrossed in the continuing research on the scientific findings from Gamma Trianguli VI. Kirk admitted to himself that he missed having Spock on the bridge; without that familiar presence at the science station, he was bored and restless. He always hated these down times between missions. The lack of anything to command his attention other than routine maintenance, security drills and taking part in athletic contests in the gym hadn’t been enough to ease the itch that inaction always raised in him. He’d caught up on his paperwork, but that hadn’t been enough to get his mind off the Babel conference. It had been…odd…to realize that Spock had not felt it necessary to tell him the truth about his parents. It was a reminder—and not a welcome one—that there was still much he did not know about Spock.

Kirk realized most of his irritation was self-inflicted. He didn’t own Spock. The Vulcan did not owe him any sort of confessional about his past. Kirk had always felt privileged on the rare occasions when Spock had shared any personal concerns or memories. And, if Kirk were honest with himself, there was plenty about his past that he’d never confided to Spock. He’d always found it easier to ignore past mistakes, past pain, and go on. It was easy not to think about David Marcus. It was easy not to remember what survival had demanded on Tarsus. How could he begrudge Spock his secrets, when he had so many of his own?

No. He didn’t own Spock, and he should be used to Vulcan reticence by now. Being Spock’s lover didn’t automatically convey any other privileges. It was enough that Spock loved him. More than enough.

Feeling settled, he exited the turbolift and strode to his quarters. Spock was waiting for him. They walked inside, sharing a smile and a quick touch of their hands after the door closed behind them. Then Kirk settled down at his desk and signaled Uhura to patch the message through.

Spock sat next to him, and they both focused on the screen as it flashed to life. Kirk reacted with surprise when the image revealed was not the expected view of the Fleet Captain, with an unwelcome mission diverting them from their current course, but rather the logo of a standard Starfleet First Team Follow-up Vid-Report.

“This is the First Team Follow-up Preliminary Report on the sentient species self-described as the Vehyat, on planet Cygnus Delta. Captain Roberto Juarez in command.” Captain Juarez managed to combine an expression of both gung-ho eagerness and military discipline on a surprisingly young face.

“Captain Juarez has an excellent reputation for leading followup teams,” Spock observed. “I understand his last assignment was Beta III.”

“Yes, I’ve seen some of his reports before.” Kirk kept his attention on the screen. Juarez had a good reputation as being able to go right in after first contact was made, primarily to open preliminary negotiations with potential new members for the Federation, but occasionally as part of the cleanup teams assigned to repair any cultural damages caused by prime directive violations, deliberate or inadvertent or, Kirk thought wryly, disputed. He knew Juarez had been on the team which had followed up their visit to Beta III, but there, at least, the original cultural contamination had happened a century ago, and Kirk knew, beyond doubt, he had done the right thing for the people of that planet by freeing them from the slavery imposed by Landru. He also knew he had left the Follow-up Team one hell of a cleanup job.

The image on the screen shifted to a beautifully photographed vid of a blue-green world, and Captain Juarez began narrating what was an interesting but routine report on the planet Cygnus Delta. 

Juarez described Cygnus Delta as a standard Class M planet. The First Contact team had originally been sent to that world because the inhabitants had been sending specific mathematical energy patterns out into space, patterns that indicated intelligence and that seemed to presuppose the existence of other intelligent life in the universe.

If not for the clearly readable energy patterns typical of a spacefaring world, Cygnus Delta would have presented the appearance of a planet in a pre-technological form of development. It was heavily forested with a variety of trees that grew to gargantuan proportions. Many stands of trees in the lower reaches of the southernmost continent were hundred of meters high and dozens of meters in diameter. 

Vehyat technology was cleverly concealed and nearly invisible, with a great deal of use of force fields and magnetism to accomplish desired tasks, leaving visible all the glories of nature. There were nearly a billion sentient inhabitants on the planet, spread over three continents, but almost all of the energy signatures were concentrated on the southernmost continent, and indicated a fairly advanced technology. There were dozens of cities, each containing 50,000 occupants or more. Very few structures were built on the ground—most industry and all dwellings and public spaces were mounted on platforms held up against the massive trees by sophisticated antigrav devices that did not damage or strain the trees in any way. “They have a perfect symbiotic relationship with their habitat,” Juarez continued, as the vid flashed to a view of the Cygnus Delta solar system. “They have achieved space flight, but it is confined to their own solar system, with a small inhabited outpost on one of their larger moons and drone probes on their neighboring two planets.”

Kirk continued to watch with puzzlement, and a growing sense of annoyance… and unease. “This is routine stuff,” he commented, glancing at Spock. “Something’s up.”

“Indeed.” Spock turned his attention to Kirk, eyes revealing the same suspicions. “I have observed your intuition is usually accurate in these situations.”

Juarez was now describing the Vehyat, and Kirk turned his attention back to the images on the screen. The Vehyat were arboreal, long-limbed, taller than Humans, and all were equipped with long prehensile tails. High-placed rounded ears adorned heads that were broad at forehead and cheeks, tapering to a sharply pointed chin. Clothing was unknown, but there was some use of decorative jewelry among their leaders. Their bodies were covered with thick fur; they had lighter-colored torsos and darker limbs, tails, faces and ears. Kirk decided that their coloring reminded him of Siamese cats. 

When the First Contact team had made contact, using established protocols, they had been greeted with warm curiosity, but no trace of surprise or fear. The Vehyat explained that the team—or someone like them—had been expected. The team’s technical people had promptly got into a discussion about the signals the Vehyat had been beaming into space, and the Vehyat explained that they had sent out the signals because their leaders foresaw new Kin coming to the People from the outside, and the Vehyat wished to encounter and study these new Kin. 

The planet was a treasure trove of biological rarities, some of which were important ingredients in cures for Rigellian Fever. These botanicals were now an important factor in preliminary negotiations for Federation membership.

The Vehyat were courteous but not forthcoming. Only one Vehyat, Seer Qonyh, could give final approval for membership negotiations to proceed, and she would only do so if given the proper assurances of the Federation’s benevolence. 

The image faded abruptly, to be replaced by the face of a black-haired Asian man. Although Kirk had never met Nogura, he recognized him instantly. The Fleet Captain was impeccable in dress and posture. Old eyes gazed out of a face marked with an ambition nearly concealed behind a carefully bland facade.

Nogura greeted them, then regarded them over folded hands. “Captain Kirk, a most interesting planet, is it not?”

“Yes. They should make a fine addition to the Federation.”

“If all goes well.”

“If all goes well,” Kirk agreed, fighting down the impulse to blurt out questions. 

Nogura shifted slightly, letting his gaze move away from Kirk to rest on Spock. He held the Vulcan’s gaze. Then the image shifted, and the vid started again.

Kirk traded an exasperated glance with Spock, and saw the Vulcan’s lips quirk in the tiniest smile.

This time the image was of a single female Vehyat, as tall and willowy as the rest of her people. She was obviously of high standing, as she wore several leather and metal bracelets along her dark arms. Her body fur was a soft apricot shade, which darkened to russet on her limbs, tail, face, and high-set round ears. Three sets of barely-rounded breasts adorned her torso. She was speaking to Captain Juarez, bending down to meet his upturned gaze. Their conversation hadn’t been recorded, rather Juarez’s narration recommenced. 

“This is Qonyh, Seer of the Vehyat. The Vehyat, for the most part, are non-telepathic. Certain few among them are born with this wild talent, and their Seers—the ones who make all binding decisions—are always the most powerful of these telepaths.

“When their world was divided into warring nation-states, it was customary, once peace was negotiated, to finalize the agreement by telepathic contact between the Seers of the different factions. It was traditional to have the Seers engage in this mental contact before they could accept each other as Kin, and not as strangers. They continued this custom as they began peacefully uniting their nations until they gradually achieved a planetary government. They wish to continue this tradition with us. They have agreed, in principal, to Federation membership, but will not continue negotiations until their ancient requirement is fulfilled.”

The image of the Vehyat leader vanished, replaced once again with Nogura’s calm face. A moment of silence stretched, while Nogura laced his fingers together. “Interesting people, are they not?” His gaze was focused on Spock.

“Indeed,” the Vulcan replied. 

“Sir,” Kirk began, and Nogura’s gaze shifted back to him. He wished Nogura would hurry up and get to the point. He had already guessed where this was leading, and, taking a glance at Spock’s contemplative face, hands steepled before him, he suspected Spock’s decision had already been made. “Surely you have people in the diplomatic corps who are trained for these sorts of situations and who have the necessary talents.”

“Dr. Jones had been originally assigned to Cygnus Delta, but she has been unable to accept this mission.” Nogura relaxed into calm silence, but he had transferred his attention back to Spock. “Commander,” he said calmly. “I have read your reports on Janus VI and the incident with the space probe Nomad.”

“Understood,” Spock said. Kirk saw Spock shift slightly, saw a gleam of interest and anticipation in the dark eyes. He read Spock’s answer there before the Vulcan spoke. “And agreed.”

“Seer Qonyh will be most interested in speaking with you.”

“And I with her.”

Kirk whipped his attention back to the screen. Nogura favored them both with a grave smile, but his words were directed to Spock. “Thank you, Commander. Further information will be subspaced to you immediately. Captain.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Execute course change upon receiving the coordinates.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Nogura out.”

The screen abruptly went black, and Kirk stared at for a moment in astonishment, then turned in his chair to face Spock. “I take it you’ve agreed to make mental contact with the Seer.”

“I have,” Spock replied serenely.

“Why did Nogura beat around the bush? Why didn’t he just come right out and ask? Or make it an order?”

Spock stirred, and though his gaze did not betray his thoughts, Kirk noticed a slight trace of unease in his posture. “No non-Vulcan may order—or even ask—a Vulcan to perform a mindmeld.” 

Kirk stilled, absorbing this. Several conflicting emotions demanded attention; he channeled them all into a gently voiced question, “Why wasn’t I aware of this?”

Something flickered in the dark Vulcan gaze. “This agreement was made between Vulcan and the Federation Council when the Intrepid was commissioned last year. Many Vulcans entered the Academy at that time. This agreement was not in effect when I entered Starfleet. And since my departure from Vulcan was…irregular, the fact that you received no word of this requirement, might have been an… oversight.”

“A deliberate one?” 

“Possibly.” Spock’s face did not betray any distress at this thought, nor, Kirk thought, did he seem to be concealing any reservations.

Filled with restless energy, he got to his feet, veering around Spock so he could pace the confines of his cabin. He halted by the room divider, not surprised to find Spock’s gaze focused directly on him, as he knew it had been no matter where he was in the cabin at any moment.

“Spock, are you sure you want to do this?”

“I am.” Spock’s steepled fingers relaxed, interlaced with each other, and fell into his lap. “The Vehyat are a fascinating species. I will be most interested in meeting their Seer.”

“And performing a mindmeld with her?”

“Yes.”

Kirk deliberately kept a few feet of physical distance between them and studied Spock’s face carefully. “Spock, have I ever asked you to do things you have not wanted to do?”

Spock replied with precision. “You have given orders that I have initially disagreed with, but circumstances have generally proven the correctness of your choices.”

Kirk felt a small smile quirk his face. “You know that’s not what I was asking.”

“That is true.” Spock stood and closed the distance between then, stopping two feet away. “It has always been my choice to use my telepathic abilities where circumstances required it. If I had wished to refuse, I would have done so.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

Spock lifted an eyebrow, and Kirk felt himself relaxing. “Yes, I know. ‘Illogical’ to ask you to restate a clear statement.” He drummed his fingers against the room divider. “I have wondered what it must be like—to touch another mind, to feel what another person—being—feels. When you were in contact with the horta, you were so expressive of her emotions. Her grief.” Spock’s posture tightened, and Kirk sighed. “What have I made you do?’

“Jim. I have made many choices since leaving Vulcan that have not been in accord with my planet’s dominant values. Starfleet itself is disapproved of by many on my world, as you have cause to know.”

Kirk nodded, thinking of Sarek’s cold face and blatant snub of Spock upon arriving on the Enterprise. He was glad at least that the pain of separation between father and son had eased, and that they had parted on good terms.

“I made these choices long before I met you. You have not asked me to do anything that I have not been willing to do.”

The communications signal sounded, and Kirk turned his instant attention to Uhura. “Sir, we have just received orders for a course change.”

“Pipe it down here for my review. Kirk out.”

Spock lifted a brow, obviously surprised that Kirk didn’t immediately implement the course change, but he didn’t express his puzzlement.

“Five minutes won’t hurt.” Kirk answered the unspoken question in Spock’s eyes, then added, “I want to finish this.” Spock remained patiently silent as Kirk explained, “When I ask you to meld, I don’t really understand what I’m asking you to do. I can’t. No human can.”

Spock replied, “That is not accurate. There are several powerful human telepaths, including Dr. Jones.”

“I know. But from what I understand, their ability is different than the Vulcans. It’s certainly not integrated into our culture—not at all. People with that capacity were feared in the past—still are feared, in some quarters. But you—I understand telepathy is completely integrated into the Vulcan culture.” He hesitated, then chose not to mention T’Pring, and how he had witnessed T’Pau touching Spock’s mind when they first arrived at koon-ut-kalifee.

A shadow crossed Spock’s face, a certain strain about his eyes and mouth, quickly masked. “There are many cultural aspects of my world that I no longer participate in.”

“Spock—Bones told me how difficult it was for you to meld with Van Gelder. But you did it. For me.”

“Yes. I did it. For you.”

Kirk paused, once again awed by the weight of Spock’s love. “I don’t think I ever appreciated how difficult, how disturbing melding with a non-Vulcan would be for you. That you would meld with Van Gelder was—”

“—I could not bear the thought of your death.” Spock took his hand.

Kirk interlaced Spock’s fingers with his own. “But to find out I’ve asked you to break cultural taboos—?” He noticed Spock’s posture tightening, almost imperceptibly, and allowed the withdrawal of the other’s hand. “Don’t ever agree to meld unless you feel it’s absolutely necessary, and even then—”

“—Jim,” Spock said gently. “Each and every meld was necessary. You and I have always done what needs to be done, for the sake of the mission. I abide by my choices.”

Kirk nodded. “All right then. If this is something you want to do, let’s do it.” 

“I have already agreed. I am most curious about the Vehyat and their Seer. I have always welcomed the opportunity to explore, to acquire new knowledge.”

Kirk nodded, and pressed the communications button. “Bridge. Implement course change.” After Uhura’s acknowledgment, he turned back to Spock. “All right then. On to Cygnus Delta. And since we’re off duty now, care for a workout?” He gave Spock his most charming smile. “We can start in the gym.”

* * * * *

 

The Enterprise team—Kirk, Spock, McCoy, several specialists from the Science department, and a couple of security personnel—were met at the beam down point on Cygnus Delta by Captain Juarez, a good dozen members of his Team, and a number of Vehyat. In person, Kirk was even more impressed by their height—the shortest Vehyat was taller than the tallest human by at least an inch, and the tallest Vehyat towered over the Humans by nearly a head.

Captain Juarez indicated a cream-and-tan female, “I would like to present Xiamet.”

“I am very honored to meet you,” Kirk said.

She had initially focused on Spock, but turned her attention politely to Kirk. “I, and my staff, will be your guide to our people. One of us will be always available to you, to assist you with our technology, and answer any questions you have.”

Kirk thanked her, and made quick introductions. He could see the expressions of eager interest on the faces of every crewmember. All of the science personnel had reviewed the reports on this world, and had been in the middle of an animated discussion of the possible botanical/ medical benefits for the Federation when he had arrived in the transporter room.

Kirk barely had a chance to glance around. The softly rolling ground was covered with grasses and dried needles and football-sized cones that resembled those of pine trees in shape if considerably greater in size. The trees were spaced widely apart from each other, with vast areas in between splashed by lances of golden sunlight. The beam down area was in one of these places, and from this point Kirk could see several of the enormous trees. They rose up well over several hundred feet in height, and the trunks were so enormous that the entire landing party, linked hand to hand, couldn’t have reached around even half the base of one of those trees. 

At ground level, some of the lower branches were within a few dozen feet of their neighbors, but as Kirk looked up he could see how the circumference of each tree narrowed as it rose, until at the very tops the trees were hundreds of meters apart.

There was no sign of civilization or technology. Xiamet turned and moved toward one exceptionally huge tree, and everyone fell in step beside her. Kirk glanced at Spock, who had one hand possessively over his tricorder, clearly wishing that social protocol was over so he could start his work. 

At the base of the giant tree, Xiamet had them all step onto a round flat wooden platform. She indicated the oddly curved wooden poles that were the only visible objects on the platform. “We do realize that the support poles—the nidi aren’t designed for your people.” She went and propped herself against a curve of one of the nidi, wrapping her tail around it for support. “But if you place your arm around it,” she unwound her tail and demonstrated with her right arm, “You should be quite safe. I am a careful driver.”

All of the Starfleet personnel grabbed hold of one of the support poles. Xiamet said something, and controls rose from the floor of the transport, unfolding into a panel. Spock watched with open curiosity as she touched a few buttons. A loud brief hum filled Kirk’s ears, then faded into background noise. Then the transport simply rose into the air, and began a slow, casual weaving among the branches. 

Kirk held loosely to his nidi and enjoyed the ride, the feeling of the air sift around him. Its motion was now silent, barely perceptible, and the only sound Kirk could hear was the restless shifting of the vast branches moving to a gentle breeze. Dappled light surrounded them all; he smiled as he looked around, seeing everyone else doing the same, enjoying the experience and the flight. Spock was watching Xiamet operate the device, eyes alight with curiosity, and Kirk knew he was holding back dozens of questions on its operation. Scotty will love this—I’ll have to send him down, once everything’s settled; he’d love to have a look at their technology. 

He became suddenly aware that when Xiamet turned her attention to any of them, her gaze lingered longest on Spock. Natural—logical, Spock would say—as he’s the key to this mission. Kirk fought off a feeling of unease. There was no indication whatsoever of any danger from these people. They hadn’t had a warlike period in centuries, and nothing in Juarez’s report indicated that the Vehyat had anything other than an intense curiosity and interest in the inhabitants of the Federation. 

Their trip ended several hundred feet further up the tree. Kirk saw they were approaching a large platform wrapped entirely around the bole of the tree. Above it were many other, smaller platforms, and he could see furnishings of some sort on most of them.

The transport approached a scalloped-shaped berth at the very edge of the platform and settled itself into place with a gentle bump.

“It fits as if it were a magnetic lock, something impossible with these sorts of materials,” Spock observed, clearly unable to resist a scientific comment.

Xiamet turned her attention to Spock. “I will be pleased to discuss our technology with you, sir, if our Seer so approves.”

She and Juarez herded everyone off the transport and onto the main platform where dozens of Vehyat were assembled in groups of twos and threes. They seemed to be casually conversing among themselves, yet Kirk was very aware that his group—especially Spock—was the center of everyone’s attention. 

“We are having a banquet in your honor,” Xiamet explained. “We will all eat and drink. You may converse with any of us, but there is much we cannot discuss now. It will give us no offense if you wish to ask questions; please do not take offense if we may not yet be able to answer them. After the banquet, Seer Qonyh will arrive.”

“Thank you,” Kirk said. “May we talk to anyone?”

“Yes, you may.” Her eyes veered to Spock. “But there are those who wish to speak to you now.”

Spock inclined his head. “Certainly.”

“I will be your escort,” she said. “Captain Juarez, would you care to show Commander Spock’s people how to negotiate our building and partake of our banquet?” She made some type of hand gesture, and two other Vehyat, male this time, stepped over. “Nuyan, Eviet, please assist Captain Juarez if he needs you.”

Kirk, bemused at being one of Spock’s “people”, but slightly worried that Spock was being separated from them, continued watching as the Vulcan was led back to the trunk of the tree. There was obviously some other type of transport there, as he and Xiamet stepped precisely into a delineated area, and then rose on something invisible higher up in the tree, where they exited onto another, smaller platform. Kirk craned his neck, and saw two other Vehyat approach Spock, the Vulcan taking a respectful stance. From this distance he was still able to see that these Vehyat wore armbands, indicating their position on the High Council.

“Captain?”

Kirk reluctantly turned his attention back to Juarez, who was indicating the various food platforms. “We’ll serve ourselves and then return to this platform for the main meal.”

The affair seemed very casual—deceptively so. The Vehyat moved around them, returning from the food platforms with their selections, taking seats on benches that meandered organically around short artificial branches, occasionally watching the Federation people out of their large, dark eyes. Kirk was aware that this group of Vehyat were this planet’s equivalent of the Federation High Council. Out of all the billion inhabitants of this planet, these few were in charge of negotiations.

The banquet was as elaborate as these affairs always were, though the logistics certainly were different. Bountiful displays of fruits, meats, wines, teas, and other less-identifiable foodstuffs were displayed in platforms set among the branches of the tree, elevated there by antigrav devices. Juarez demonstrated how to use the antigrav devices, and the Enterprise people quickly learned to identify the round shapes barely visible on the platform floor, and how to operate them with careful foot pressure. But Kirk quickly noted that these devices were not preferred by the Vehyat, who clambered from one display to another among the vast branches of the tree.

Kirk viewed this as a challenge, and his crew followed his example. They were considerably slower than the Vehyat, but in short order they mastered finding foot and handholds on the rough branches leading up to the food platforms.

“I’m getting too old for this sort of thing,” McCoy grumbled as they climbed to another platform, stepping before a display of small seed-like nuts. Small transparent sealed containers held servings of the food on display. They had each been provided with a weblike bag, and Kirk added one of the nut containers to the fruits and meat he had selected at other platforms. 

Kirk smiled at McCoy. The doctor was having no problems keeping up with Kirk, and Kirk knew his grumbling was just pro forma. “After mountain climbing, this is a piece of cake. Now, wait until we take leave on Nova Palne and give New Everest a try…”

McCoy scowled. “I’m a doctor, not a mountain goat. I’m sure you can drag Spock up to the top of that molehill, but I’ll be heading to Wrigley’s at the first opportunity.”

They made their way back down to the lowest platform, to a drinks display. Kirk picked up a cylinder of a beverage that looked somewhat like tea, then paused, seeking out Spock.

Xiamet had taken Spock to the topmost display, and he was choosing among a selection of vegetables. One of their High Council turned an orange-and-cream tinted face toward Spock. Spock replied, interest lighting his serious features. The aliens were all taller than Spock, and Kirk was struck now at the sight of Spock looking up at someone. The entire feeling between Spock and the Veyhat Council Members seemed positive and peaceful; Kirk felt a lessening of his tension, and only realized what his face must be betraying when McCoy commented in a low voice, “You’ve got it bad.” 

He turned to McCoy, and smiled ruefully. “Am I that obvious?”

“To me, yes. And Uhura. And just about everyone on board ship.”

Kirk grimaced. Things were still so new between him and Spock, so barely formed, that Kirk had enjoying keeping it to themselves for a moment. But the ever-perceptive doctor had had his antenna way up, and had guessed the truth a short time before. According to the doctor, the way Kirk was broadcasting his love for Spock with every look, his body language, his tone of voice—well, he might as well have made an announcement in the Free Enterprise, the ship’s clandestine electronic newsletter. Of course he wasn’t even supposed to know about the existence of that supposedly secret gossip sheet (just was he wasn’t supposed to know about the pure grain alcohol still in engineering) but he made sure to read every byte of every issue. A captain needed to keep informed.

Kirk himself did not feel he was behaving any differently than he had before, and said so, only to pinned down by a penetrating blue gaze, and heartfelt exclamation of “Poppycock!”

They headed over to a grouping of larger benches, some of which were already occupied by Juarez’s crew and the Vehyat assigned to be their guides. McCoy settled himself down onto a bench made from polished pieces of intricately patterned wood, and leaned back against the sturdy branch. “Well at least their seating arrangements are comfortable.”

Kirk, taking a seat, glanced around the assembly. The huge flat platform was shaded on all sides by the branches of the immense tree. Dozens of the Vehyat occupied the mahogany-colored benches that were scattered in a rough semicircle around the edges of half of the platform. Kirk looked with admiration at one of the females. A warm apricot fur, darkening to russet on her limbs, tail, face and ears, covered her body. She met his gaze, large dark eyes regarding him with curiosity. 

Spock continued to be the center of Vehyat attention. When they weren’t focusing on their companions or their meals, the Vehyat were gazing up at the high platform where Spock stood talking with two of the members of the High Council. None of them seemed self-conscious about staring at Spock or any of the Humans, but simply continued their serene regard for moments at a time.

Captain Juarez returned from assisting some of the Enterprise science team and took a seat on the bench angling close to the one where Kirk and McCoy were seated. Nuyan and Eviet, the two Vehyat males assigned to help out the Enterprise crew, stayed with the Science Team. 

Captain Juarez managed to maintain a militarily correct posture and still look relaxed as he picked out one of his food selections from his mesh bag. Unsealing a meat container, he tipped some of the contents in his mouth, and chewed with signs of pleasure.

“Tastes like chicken,” he claimed, giving Kirk a grin.

“I was going to say, ‘tastes like Rigellian venison’, myself,” the doctor offered.

Kirk pulled a slice of some purple fruit from another container and tasted it experimentally. “Try this one,” he suggested to Juarez. “It looks like fruit, but tastes like oysters on the half-shell. Do you think they are an aphrodisiac?”

They laughed at the old joke, then Kirk, as always aware of everything around him, looked up as Xiamet headed down the branch to the main level with the use of limbs and tail, as agile as a cat racing down a tree. Kirk felt an indulgent smile as he watched Spock follow, as surefooted as the Vehyat in his descent of the curved branch supporting the food platform.

They all rose as Xiamet and Spock joined them. “Please enjoy your meal while we prepare for the ceremony.” Xiamet’s voice was throaty, deep and rough; in a human he would have assumed she was a male. Large eyes, all pupil and iris, regarding him with a serene reserve.

Spock sat next to Kirk. There wasn’t, quite, enough space for him, but Kirk didn’t move any closer to McCoy. Rather, he stayed in place, enjoying the warmth of Spock’s thigh pressed against his, the pressure as Spock momentarily moved his leg even tighter against Kirk’s before finding a comfortable position.

“I would like to study their forcefield technology.” Spock was contemplating the nearest edge of the platform. The view of the shifting green branches was absolutely clear; there was no distortion of their view at any of the edges from the protective force fields that surrounded the platform. “They seem to have developed this technology primarily for privacy purposes. As an arboreal race, they certainly had no need to use this technology to prevent falls.”

“It does keep their furniture on the platforms—hard on your interior design if the wind can knock off your furniture with a single huff and puff,” McCoy observed.

“The force field technology does have many uses,” Spock agreed. “I am most anxious to discuss it with their scientific team in the morning.” 

Kirk took a sip of the beverage. The taste was like bitter coffee with an herbal undertone. McCoy had taken a taste of his own beverage, and was now watching the gathering. There were three or four Vehyat on each bench, and more of them draped casually on smaller platforms attached to the wide-spreading branches. Some leaned precariously forward, anchored in position only by the clasping of their long dark tails around convenient branches.

Most were preoccupied in their own meals. Only the two High Council members who had accompanied Spock down from the higher platform were standing. They faced each other in the center of the platform. Their eyes were closed, and they were so still that Kirk could barely see their respiration. He realized they were exactly in sync with each other. Their arms were held out to their sides, and their hands were linked, their long fingers intertwined tightly. Kirk could also see details of the highly-colored ceremonial armbands they wore around their upper arms. It was the only type of clothing he’d ever seen any Vehyat wear, and he wondered what the ritual significance might be.

The leaders relaxed, and each took a half step back. Their entwined fingers slowly parted. 

A hint of motion caught his attention, and he looked toward the main tree trunk. An antigrav platform was descending, bearing a tall figure, and he knew, without doubt, that this was Seer Qonyh.

The two High Council members remained standing still, eyes still closed. The anti-grav platform landed, and Seer Qonyh stepped forward. Her willowy form moved with grace across the platform, between the two High Council members, directly toward Spock. Kirk could feel the authority and strength of purpose that surrounded her; more than that, he could feel an electricity, an aura of absolute confidence and power and ability that made the hair on his arms rise up. Her large dark eyes turned to regard his for a moment, and he had a sense of being seen, known, evaluated, and judged, in one second of time. For an instant his surroundings faded; the magnetic pull of her eyes was as inescapable as being caught in a gravity well.

Then intensity faded as she turned her gaze back to Spock, and Kirk was freed. Kirk felt the adrenaline kick in. The next few minutes would determine the success or failure of the mission, and it was all in Spock’s hands. There was nothing Kirk could do that would affect the course of the mission, and he fought down the part of him that wanted to take charge, that wanted control. What was required by the Vehyat and by this situation was something he did not possess—the ability to reach out telepathically, to assure the Vehyat that the Federation could be trusted.

“Well, Spock, it’s your moment to shine.” McCoy gave the Vulcan his irrepressible grin.

“I am merely carrying out my duty.” Spock spared the doctor a glance before returning his attention to Kirk. He let his gaze linger on Kirk for a fraction of second longer, then stood and faced Qonyh.

She approached to within a few feet of them, then gestured toward Spock with one hand, fingers curling up and inward—a summons.

Spock walked forward. She slowly turned her head, looking at her two companions. They stood silently in the center of the platform, focused inward on their own thoughts. Though their eyes remained closed, Qonyh moved to position Spock and herself so that they stood in profile to her companions—and to Kirk and McCoy.

“You consent to the meeting of our minds.” There was little inflection in her voice; certainly nothing that could make her translated words into either a question or a statement—or a command.

“I do,” Spock replied.

She moved forward until bare inches separated their bodies. “You are the petitioner. I await your question.”

Kirk saw Spock breathe in, breathe out, and then raised one hand.

Long Vulcan fingers spread out, hesitated over Qonyh’s face, then found the correct placements, like tumblers clicking into their positions in a lock.

She drew in a sudden, deep intake of breath. She and Spock stood frozen together for a moment in tableau, and Kirk was suddenly aware of the absolute silence around them. Sparing a moment to glance over the rest of the company, he found all activity had ceased. The other Vehyat, who only a moment ago had been occupied with their meals and their conversation, were now motionless, their attention fully focused on Qonyh.

In this silence, even the sunlight, shafting through the branches, now seemed to focus on Spock and Qonyh, bathing them with intense energy, highlighting every change of motion or expression.

Qonyh’s hands clenched into fists at her side. Every tiny motion she made rippled through her body; her fur, seal-sleek and short, had stood up, all over her body. Spock’s face was intent, eyes focused on Qonyh with laser precision. Her rapt gaze met his, and a smile, the first Kirk had seen on her face, curved her lips. 

Spock’s face softened until the beginnings of a smile transformed his face. Kirk was suddenly reminded of how much Spock changed during a meld, how much that serious face altered to reflect the thoughts, the emotions of another. The raw agony and sorrow Spock’s face had expressed during his meld with the Horta had revealed a depth and acuity of feeling that Kirk had thought about long after the fact. At that time, he’d assumed that Spock’s reaction had merely been the reflection of the Horta’s emotion, not the expression of Spock’s own. Now he wondered, just how much of that emotion had been Spock’s own response to the Horta’s pain and grief.

Spock’s face softened further, his expression reflecting surprise, joy, interest.

Qonyh slowly raised her arms and placed both russet-furred hands against the sides of Spock’s head, her palms pressing against his ears. Kirk saw Spock take a shuddering breath as Qonyh’s hands curled over the top of his head to curve around his skull. Her long fingers shifted in tiny circles and hitches, sifting through Spock’s dark glossy hair, working their way in to the skin beneath, then stilled, now fixed into the proper position.

Qonyh’s eyes drifted shut. Spock’s eyes closed as well, and he tilted his head slightly backward. His hand clung to the meld position as if welded in place. She took the tiniest step forward and bowed her head even further until their foreheads touched; his hand was trapped between their faces, his fingers still in position for the meld, the back of his hand pressed against his own face.

The dappled light cast odd shadows on her furred body, on the three sets of barely rounded breasts that adorned her torso. Now that her hands were on Spock, Kirk was suddenly more aware of Qonyh as a female than as an alien.

Qonyh’s mouth formed a full smile. Spock’s lips parted, then an answering smile lit his face. From where he sat, Kirk could now see just the tips of Spock’s fingers on Qonyh’s face, saw those fingers shift slightly, as if Spock’s hand were curling in pleasure.

Kirk stiffened with sudden anger. He had seen Spock perform other melds before, but always in situations where he was focused primarily on the need for action. Now, when he could do nothing to affect the outcome but to wait in silence, Kirk was suddenly, shockingly aware of the intimacy of the meld.

Qonyh’s dark-furred tail snaked forward, touched Spock’s side, then moved, inch by caressing inch, around his back. It didn’t pause or hesitate, but caressed and explored. As it did so Qonyh closed the final gap between herself and Spock, pressing their bodies tightly together. Kirk almost felt the deep breath Spock took; felt his own hand curl tight as he caught a glimpse of an extraordinary expression on Spock’s face—an expression of transcendent joy.

Kirk was suddenly aware of McCoy’s hand gripping his arm. He glanced at the doctor.

“Jim.” McCoy’s barely voiced warning was like being drenched in cold water.

Every part of Kirk’s body was tight with tension, ready for combat. He focused on the reality of their mission, forced himself to relax back into his chair, made his hands unclench from fists. “Thank you,” he whispered to the doctor.

Blue eyes watched him with concern, but he shook his head minutely, and managed a tight smile before he turned his attention back to Spock and Qonyh.

They were still standing pressed together, but as he watched, Qonyh shifted into a new posture. She took the tiniest step backward; her tail began to withdraw from Spock, retreating by slow inches as she dragged it around his back and then his side, before pulling it behind her own body, where it curled into a tight knot.

Her hands began to withdraw from Spock’s head, even as his hand dropped away from her face. Their eyes opened, and she stared at him, eyes luminous. He returned the glance, face still open, reflecting a quick succession of expressions: joy, poignancy and parting.

She rubbed the side of her face against Spock’s cheek in a leisurely, sensuous motion. Kirk gripped the edge of his bench and forced himself to remain still.

Qonyh stepped slowly back from Spock. Her hand claimed his, and she turned him as she turned herself, to face away from Kirk, towards her people.

“All is well,” she announced. “We have new Kin.”

The entire gathering relaxed, and all the Vehyat spontaneously stood, marking the air with excited movements of their tails. An instant later, all the drama and tension that had been focused on the Seer and Spock vanished. Kirk could feel an almost tangible sense of welcome and acceptance from the Vehyat replacing what had been curiosity and intellectual interest before.

Qonyh turned back to Kirk, Spock turning also, until they both were looking directly at Kirk and McCoy. Qonyh took a half step sideways, until she was almost brushing against Spock, and looked directly at Kirk. She inclined her head and shoulders in a bow, and Kirk, now completely in command of himself, smiled, rose and returned the bow.

Qonyh and Spock stepped forward. Kirk tilted his head back to look up into the alien woman’s face. She regarded him with serious interest. “We know much we did not know before. I applaud our differences and similarities. Tomorrow, we will speak of official business. Tonight, speak to any you like. We are now your family. I will rest for awhile. Xiamet will see to your needs.”

Qonyh stepped back and she and the other two leaders went unobtrusively to the side of the platform, where they stepped on a transport device. It clicked away from the main platform and slid smoothly out into the sunlit space between the trees.

Kirk, calmer now that that startling moment of jealousy had passed, smiled at Spock. “Congratulations, Spock.”

Spock still seemed to be surrounded with an aura of transcendent calm that surpassed his usual Vulcan demeanor. A tiny smile lingered on his lips as he watched the transport bearing Qonyh disappear in the distance. He turned back to Kirk. “A most fascinating experience.”

“It certainly looked it,” McCoy interjected, after training a searching look on Kirk. Kirk responded with a quirk of a smile, and McCoy visibly relaxed.

Spock raised a perplexed eyebrow. 

“A joke,” McCoy explained. 

Spock’s eyebrows rose higher. “The human propensity for telling jokes at what would seem to be serious occasions—”

“Some day you’ll understand humor.” 

“I certainly hope not.”

Kirk let himself smile at their banter, then turned his attention to Captain Juarez, who reached out to shake Spock’s hand, but stopped himself in time, and managed to quickly substitute the Vulcan salute.

General conversation ensued, with numerous Vehyat surrounding the humans, and shortly everyone had broken off into smaller groups of five or six individuals, several Vehyat to each human, either alone or in a pair. Kirk, accompanied by Spock and Xiamet, was introduced to dozens of Vehyat, all of whom professed themselves eager to discuss every aspect of their world. Spock accepted several invitations to discuss Vehyat technology the next day.

The gathering began breaking up an hour or two later. Kirk made his farewells to Captain Juarez, who expressed the desire to discuss Beta III and Landru at some later time. Kirk, with an inward groan, agreed. First Team Follow-up crewmembers always had different views on the necessity of certain actions.

Kirk tracked down Spock, finding him in intent conversation with three Vehyat. “Xiamet says she’ll show us to our residence.” The Enterprise personnel had been invited to stay the night on the planet, and Kirk had accepted, knowing it was good manners and established protocol to go along with local customs.

Spock inclined his head to his Vehyat companions.

“We will discuss this more in the morning,” said the nearest one, a male with cream and brown markings. 

“I look forward to our discussion.” Spock returned the Vehyat’s bow, then joined Kirk. They fell in step behind Xiamet, who was swishing her tail in a relaxed arc through the air. 

McCoy joined them briefly, with another Vehyat and Dr. Abbott, the First Contact Team’s medical officer. “I’ll be staying with Sarah tonight,” he explained, a pleased if less than professional grin on his face. “We’re old friends.”

“See you in the morning, Bones. Dr. Abbott.” Kirk gave them both a big smile, and Spock nodded. Then the Vehyat indicated it was time to go.

Kirk smiled with anticipation as they approached the edge of the platform. At the very edge, it was possible to see the scalloped demarcation lines of the transports. They paused while Xiamet disengaged a small portion of the force field. There was the slightest feeling of resistance as he stepped onto the transport itself, still indistinguishable from the wood of the platform. Here, at the edge, the branches were spaced further apart, and open air waited. Hanging from the branches around them, gigantic cones were tightly curled in on themselves. Through the branches, he could see other stately trees hundreds of feet away, the ground far below them filled with grasses and tiny saplings. 

Xiamet touched the controls and their transport broke free of the platform. Around them, a half dozen other transports also detached themselves and slid out into the air. Kirk caught his breath, less at the sensation of smooth and effortless movement, more at the beauty of the sight of people riding by threes and fours on what appeared to be nothing more than a piece of fancy wood flooring.

“Fascinating.” Spock was examining the controls as Xiamet worked them. “May I?” He indicated his tricorder.

“Certainly,” she said, and he began making a recording.

Kirk joined them. “Can you teach me how to operate this?”

Her tail straightened, and she looked at him with an expression he could only interpret as amusement. “If you wish.” She explained the controls as she operated them, as they continued to glide hundreds of feet above the ground. They sailed out into open air and full daylight. All around them, other transports slid through the air; a few dozen feet away Kirk could see McCoy and Dr. Abbott gazing around at the sights with pleased looks on their faces. Kirk traded a glance with Spock, sharing the moment, seeing the light in his friend’s eyes.

“We’re almost there,” Xiamet explained. “I’ll let you drive in the morning.”

“How about now?” Kirk was suddenly reluctant to be alone with Spock, suddenly unsure how to approach what he wanted to say to him. “Can we go up higher? Above the tree line?”

Xiamet showed her fanged teeth in a big smile, and brought the transport to a pause. It hovered midair. “We have time,” Xiamet continued. “The sun won’t set for an hour yet. But you must hold on to the nidi.”

“Won’t the force field catch us if we slip?”

“It will. But it won’t be comfortable if you crash against the force field, and then it will be impossible for you to right the platform since you don’t know the proper voice commands.”

Spock was still positioned by his chosen nidi; Kirk grabbed onto his, and Xiamet set the craft soaring upward at a steep angle. Kirk caught his breath in exhilaration as the landscape flashed by. All around them the branches of the great trees caught the sunlight on their vast needles. As the craft increased its speed the green haze of the forest blurred until the craft was up and over and free of the treetops, like an aircar surmounting clouds.

Xiamet put the craft back in hover mode, and without waiting to be asked, Kirk joined her at the controls. Spock was right behind him, watching intently as Xiamet explained the operation of the platform, demonstrating each control by slowly taking them several yards forward, back, up, down, right, left, and then in a complex figure-of-eight shape.

“Well, Spock?” Kirk grinned. “Want to trust my driving?”

He laughed at the raised, indulgent eyebrow, and an instant later they were racing through the bright sunshine, while below them an ocean of green flew past.

Even without the feel of air rushing past them, the speed was exhilarating, and Kirk quickly began performing a complex horizontal cloverleaf pattern. “Too bad we don’t have anything like a safety harness,” he commented. “I could do some good dives with this thing.”

Xiamet’s tail curled tightly against her back and she gave a high pitched sound, which Kirk interpreted as alarm. He reluctantly gave the controls back to her. “Thanks for the spin,” he said.

Spock let go of a firm hold on his nidi, and rejoined them. While Xiamet piloted the transport back to their original destination, Kirk smiled and listened to their technical conversation on transport technology, feeling a wonderful sense of wellbeing. Here, free, sailing through the open air, with gorgeous vistas before him and Spock by his side—it was as good a feeling as anything could be. His reaction to what had happened with Spock and Qonyh was completely out of proportion. Spock had done his duty; the Federation now, most likely, had a new member because of it.

Xiamet directed their platform to another large tree. “Everyone else will already be berthed by now. There are antigravs between all the residences, if you wish to visit each other. I’ll show you our communications devices, and how to program the antigravs to take you to any residence you choose.”

She docked their transport on another platform, placed near the top of a hundreds-meter tall tree. At first sight, their cabin appeared to be nothing more than several seemingly empty platforms suspended precariously midair around the trunk of the tree. But as soon as they berthed and stepped off their transport and through the momentarily disengaged force field their surroundings transformed themselves, revealing a large, lower room furnished with tables, benches and suspended lounge chairs.

“Fascinating. The field is opaque from outside, yet wholly transparent from this aspect.” Spock was making free use of his tricorder now.

“Yes. This allows us privacy, and, at the same time, an unimpeded view. We can see out, but no one can see in.”

Kirk admired the vista around them. There wasn’t even a shimmer to indicate the presence of the powerful force field that constituted the walls.

Xiamet explained that the force field could be programmed with several different exterior appearances, depending on the occupants taste. Most preferred an accurate representation of the host tree. Bathroom facilities were located on another platform, as were the kitchen facilities, and there was a bedroom in the highest aerie of all.

Xiamet detailed how to use the amenities of the residence—food, communication, transportation, directions to the other residences—and then took her leave, promising to return in the morning to take them to their meetings.

Once she left, the silence, for a moment, seemed overpowering. Kirk felt a stillness descend on him, and emotions he’d held at bay returned, transformed now into curiosity and an intense need to understand so very much—his own jealousy, and more than that, to understand an experience he’d never shared.

Spock was examining the communication controls, recessed into a wooden panel placed in a taller version of the nidi. He turned, to find Kirk’s gaze on him.

Kirk suddenly felt a silence between them; a silence, he knew, that was of his own making. Spock’s face betrayed a faintly puzzled expression. “Jim, is anything wrong?”

Kirk forced himself to relax, releasing the tension that had managed to take possession of his body. “No, nothing at all. Let’s explore a bit, and then work on our reports. I’d like to have this evening for ourselves.”

Spock nodded, clearly pleased with the plan. After examining the furnishings on the first floor, Kirk followed Spock as he climbed to a higher platform. Spock’s every move combined grace and power; Kirk knew how many hours he had to spend in the gym himself to even keep up with what Spock did so effortlessly. While they examined the interesting workings of the kitchen and the bath, Kirk kept on remembering those moments when Qonyh had pressed her hands to Spock’s head and Spock’s face had revealed nothing less than rapture.

What would it be like, to possess someone else that completely? To know someone else that intimately, to penetrate another being that thoroughly? It had been bare moments between Spock and Qonyh, but those moments had appeared as transformative and shattering as orgasm. The jealousy was back, as fierce as it was before, and with it the realization that he was rock-hard, filled with need. 

Rumors about Vulcan sexuality filled his mind; he’d heard dozens of rumors over the years and had proved or disproved them by his own experience. But there was one rumor that bothered him, a rumor about something Spock had never asked for and never showed any indication of needing: the rumor that Vulcans had to be telepathically linked to their partners while having sex. Kirk knew from experience it wasn’t true…and yet…what would it be like?

His cock surged at the thought, and Kirk drew in a deep breath, and tried to focus on the complexities of the transport system between the residences. Spock was quite thorough in his explanation, and Kirk forced himself to focus on the words and ignore his hard-on. He didn’t want to do as his body demanded, to take possession of his lover right then and there, to stake his claim.

But Kirk knew he couldn’t deny one newfound truth. He’d had Spock’s body. Now he wanted his mind.

The newfound knowledge didn’t settle well within his soul, and he found the strength of will to pay attention to his surroundings again. Spock had given him several searching glances, and he had responded each time with a reassuring smile. With mutual consent, they got tea from the kitchen, and this time used the antigrav platform to descend to the main level. There, they settled down to write their reports.

Kirk relaxed on a suspended lounge near the platform’s edge, and enjoyed the feel of the soft breeze against his face. The force field did not impede sound or wind, unless desired. The rustling of the leaves was a soothing undercurrent of sound that helped him concentrate as he made entries into his padd. 

Spock, seated in a large wooden chair, was focused on his tricorder, but occasionally he paused to look over the edge of their platform and out at the complexities of the surrounding branches. As he contemplated the vista, a look of enjoyment, of contentment settled on the serious face. Kirk found himself pausing often in his work, just to enjoy watching Spock. He felt privileged to view that relaxed expression, delighted that Spock felt such ease with him that he permitted such expressions to appear on his face. His earlier feelings of jealousy and exclusion seemed ridiculous to him now.

They had changed clothes in the upstairs level; Spock was now dressed casually in a plain sand-colored robe, and he was barefoot. Kirk found himself contemplating those bare feet. The knowledge that Spock was not wearing anything beneath his robe inspired a hot surge at his groin.

Spock looked up, catching Kirk’s glance, clearly aware of every time Kirk had taken a momentary break from his work, and gave him that tiny smile Kirk loved so much.

Kirk grinned at him, sharing the moment, before both turned back to their tasks. Kirk forced himself to focus on his padd. The sooner this was finished, the sooner they could play. He made entries furiously, then finally snapped off the padd.

Spock had already completed his work, and was now gazing at the forest. The moment Kirk’s attention focused on him he turned to meet his gaze.

Kirk set the padd aside, then got up and moved to stand next to Spock’s chair. He looked out at the forest, enjoying seeing the same vista Spock had been observing with such pleasure moments before. “It’s so peaceful here.”

“Indeed.” 

Kirk could feel Spock’s relaxation. He rested one hand on a thin shoulder. “I love moments like these. I feel like I could stay here, like this, forever.”

“You would not.” Kirk could see Spock quirk him a small smile. “You will be impatient for a change in approximately 4.3 minutes.”

Kirk chuckled. “Yes, you’re probably right. But I intend to spend the next 4.3 minutes appreciating nature.”

“The subtly shifting patterns the tree branches make as the wind shifts them are fascinating,” Spock observed. 

“Humans would call them beautiful.” Kirk smiled, his attention on the dark glossy head next to him, rather than the trees.

“I have rarely permitted myself to contemplate beauty. Or rather, a simple beauty, such as this—the visual experience, rather than the analytical. There is beauty in the data on these trees as well.” 

“It sounds to me the ideal thing would be to appreciate both.”

Spock shifted slightly, so that his shoulder touched Kirk’s side. “Indeed.”

“I’m glad we got this mission. Congratulations.”

“The Vehyat will make an excellent addition to the Federation.”

“Qonyh is an amazing woman,” Kirk observed. “When she approached me, I felt a sense of power from her like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

“She has a most fascinating mind. I have never encountered a telepath of her abilities.”

“What was your impression of her—of what the Vehyat are like?”

Spock considered for a moment. “They are a most gentle people. They have within them the remnants of their predatory past, but they have conquered their tendencies to violence exceptionally well. They have chosen an interesting path—they have been able to focus on their positive emotions in such a way that they are able to control their negative emotions nearly completely. It is not a matter of repression, such as my people practice, but an actual transformation. I must contemplate what I have learned from her mind.”

“And what was she like personally?”

“Serene. Joyful. Curious. Accepting. Welcoming.” Spock breathed out the litany of words, then fell silent. His eyes reflected all of those emotions, and Kirk felt the magnetic pull of their love. He sat down by Spock’s feet, resting against one leg. He reached down and stroked Spock’s left foot, using one finger to trace the bone structure of each individual toe.

A hot hand came down and rested on his shoulder. He curved his own hand back to cover Spock’s. He turned and looked over his shoulder. “Bed?”

A nod, a tiny smile. Kirk pulled away, Spock got to his feet and they went up to the highest platform. There, they moved to stand next to the low bed positioned at the very edge of the platform. From here, they could look out into a green-branched infinity.

Kirk fitted himself against Spock, tilting his head back to meet that hot mouth in a kiss. His hands found places to press on Spock’s back—between his shoulder blades, just above the curve of the compact ass. He pressed their bodies close, closer than Qonyh had, and kissed gently at Spock’s lips.

The Vulcan's eyes closed in pleasure. Kirk pulled back slightly, and decided the moment was now. He wanted Spock to penetrate his mind; wanted to know what it would be like to be stripped that naked—of seeing Spock that naked. He wanted what Qonyh had had. And though dark places in his own soul cringed at the thought of that much exposure, fear mated with desire, and the part of him that was attracted to anything that brought risk reared up and demanded action. He was ready to roll the dice. “Spock…” he breathed.

The Vulcan opened his eyes. “Yes, Jim.”

“I’ve been wondering…when we have sex, do you want to meld with me?” He didn’t hesitate, but fitted his fingers into the same pattern on Spock’s face that he had seen him use on Qonyh.

Spock went rigid in his arms.

Kirk froze, then withdrew his hand, trying to understand the opaque look Spock was giving him.

Spock stepped back out of his embrace, and straightened as if he were reporting for duty. All trace of expression had fled his features. Surprised, uneasy, Kirk mirrored his posture.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Kirk was about to break it when Spock looked down and whispered, “Why did you do that?”

“I thought Vulcans melded minds during sex.”

Spock kept his gaze focused on the deck. When he finally looked up, Kirk saw him consciously let go of the iron control, let go of the mask, and allow his face to reveal a trace of… what? Fear? Unease? Distaste? “I do not think it’s advisable.”

“I had heard telepathy was an important part of sex for Vulcans.”

Spock regarded him seriously. “I would not know. I have never had sex with a Vulcan.”

With anyone else, it would have been a joke. Kirk reached out, suddenly needing to feel his lover’s touch. He trailed his fingers down Spock’s hand, which curled itself closed. He felt himself stepping back, pulling away, but then Spock’s hand relaxed, opened again, and accepted his touch. Long fingers interwove with his own.

“Well,” Kirk said at last, studying a face now readable to him, but not understanding the message. “I should know better than anyone not to pay attention to everything I hear.”

Spock’s gaze shifted away again. “I believe that some do meld during sexual intercourse. I do not know if this common, or expected.”

“Aren’t you curious, then?” Kirk used his thumb to stroke the webbing between Spock’s thumb and forefinger, slow sensuous circles, and then traced the length of Spock’s forefinger. Spock’s eyelids fluttered and he made a tiny helpless sound of pleasure. Kirk smiled to himself, knowing how much Spock enjoyed having his hands caressed. “Wouldn’t you like to try it?” he coaxed.

“Jim.” Long fingers tightened around his own. Spock drew in a deep breath, and forced himself to look directly at Kirk. “I do not wish to do this. Is that not enough?”

“And what if I would like to do it...” The words, naked, hung before them, and Kirk wished instantly that he could recall them. Spock’s face grew shuttered; he pulled away and went to stand on the far side of the platform. Kirk followed, laid a hand on Spock’s shoulder. Spock did not turn to look at him, but his voice was low, ragged. “You are merely seeking to satisfy your sexual curiosity.”

Anger blazed through his mind at that truth. And is that what you’ve been doing with me? Kirk managed to bite these words back, and he fought down the flare of anger; it wouldn’t do him any good here.

He withdrew his hand from Spock’s shoulder, but the Vulcan did not turn to look at him. “All right. I’m sorry I asked. I don’t expect you to do anything you don’t want to do.” But that image of Spock’s face, expression beatific, melded with Qonyh, filled his vision, and he knew himself to be a liar.

“I do know it is not advisable to attempt such a thing unless a permanent link is desired between both parties.” Spock’s voice was steady, formal, dry; he could have been imparting ordinary sensor readings on the bridge. He continued to stare out from the edge of their platform at the vast branches surrounding them. “I do know it is important to meld during the male’s Time—it prevents the partner from being hurt and keeps their needs synchronized.”

Kirk suddenly believed he understood the reason for Spock’s hesitation, his fear. “Spock, look at me.” Spock reluctantly turned, his face a closed mask. “You told me that this meld had been done for you, in childhood. With T’Pring.”

“Yes, the mind link is customarily done in childhood, to ensure that at the appropriate time, mates are drawn together.”

“Spock…we haven’t talked about this. We haven’t talked about the future.” He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you brought up pon farr. I want to be the one who is there for you.”

He didn’t miss the way Spock flinched at the term. Spock remained silent. Kirk assured him, “I’m serious about this.”

Spock squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. Alarmed, Kirk took his hands. “Spock... I would like to talk about this. But if you’d prefer not to—or some other time—”

Spock opened his eyes, and Kirk caught his breath at the sight of the gratitude and love there. “I had not thought to ask this of you.”

“You have to know I’d never let you go through that with someone else.”

“That Time is not yet upon me. It will not be upon me for some years. I do not need to be concerned about this now.”

“Spock, putting off thinking about the future is no way to make plans.”

Spock withdrew his hands from Kirk’s clasp, and regarded him seriously. “Jim. In matters such as this, I have never observed that you made plans.”

Kirk felt a coldness clutch his heart. “Did you think this wouldn’t last?”

“You have said nothing to me to indicate otherwise.” Spock regarded him with a nearlyconcealed hint of pain. “Jim, it has been your habit to be with your partners for a short time only. This seems to work well for you, and for many humans. Human relationships often take place on a limited-time basis. I have observed that many of your marriages are contracted for specific terms.”

“Spock.” He shook his head and gave a rueful grin. “It’s true. I’ve never seen myself as being one to ‘settle down’. But I never imagined having anyone like you in my life. And here you were, beside me, all the time. I love you. I want to be with you. In every way possible. I have never, ever, imagined this would end, for any reason.”

“Jim, I do not wish to change who you are. If we link our minds, especially during sex, we risk creating a permanent link between us. That could change you in ways I cannot predict. I do not wish to bind you to me. I wish to be with you as a human—not as a Vulcan.”

“Then I have changed you.” But Kirk had known that already—known even as he had chipped away at Spock’s Vulcan facade, that what he was doing would irrevocably change the man before him. It was only now that he began to realize the implications.

Spock shook his head. “I have changed myself.”

“But what about pon farr? You said you needed the link, to be drawn to your mate.”

Spock’s face betrayed horror. “Jim. You do not know what you are asking. I would not tie you to me that way.” 

Kirk felt a sense of hurt. “You’re right, Spock. I don’t understand what is involved. I can’t understand it. I’m not a telepath.”

“I do not understand why you desire this.”

Anger won out over caution. “You said it yourself. I’m curious.” He drew in a deep breath. “But I want to be sure that if you need something—truly need something from me that you know I am willing to give it.”

“You do not understand the implications.”

“Then tell me—make me understand.” Kirk knew he needed more information, but a very real fear had possessed him. Spock would have died if they hadn’t gone to Vulcan. And yet, nothing had occurred on the planet as planned, and now Spock was free of any link to T’Pring. Free to be with him. But when pon farr came again… “I would like to understand what it is I’m asking. Spock, I’m afraid for you. Isn’t it necessary for you to be linked—to be bonded to your mate for pon farr? Aren’t most Vulcans mindlinked to their mates?”

“I do not know what is right or normal for Vulcans.” Spock’s voice was an anguished whisper, and his shoulders slumped. “I thought I knew so many things before. I thought I understood the Vulcan way. The kalifee is a relic of our past; something that remains in ceremony, to remind us of our barbarity.” He drew in a harsh breath. “And yet, T’Pau permitted it. She would claim she had no choice according to Tradition. But logic would argue that she, too, went against the Vulcan way. Where was her respect for life? Your life? I cannot fault her for lack of feeling, her lack of emotion—that is what we strive for. But she did not respect your life. The kalifee is not your way. And it is not ours. The kalifee has not been used in many generations.” He was silent again for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was barely audible. “I was taught to regard the value of all life. She did not value your life. Nor did she value mine. For she, most certainly, knew I did not intend to survive your death for long.”

Kirk swallowed against a lump in his throat and reached out one hand toward Spock, but the Vulcan ignored it, and continued in a low, ragged voice. “And T’Pring. To deliberately choose barbarity, to deliberately choose death.” He shook his head in a human expression of disgust. “I had thought these were my people. I had thought that, as a race, we were beyond this violence. I had thought we had found ways to channel it all, even pon farr, with our traditions.”

Kirk swallowed in the face of this naked pain, pain Spock was permitting him to see, and once again reached out to offer comfort. Spock drew away from him, taking a half-step away, still at the very edge of the platform. “I have to know, Spock. Is it safe for you not to have such a link with your mate? Could I be there for you, in pon farr, without the link?”

Spock’s averted face had grown pale, and his voice tight. “The link is not strictly necessary. It serves only to draw the male to the chosen partner. Without the link, any partner may serve. There are alternatives among my people—certain communities where any may serve another’s need. As a race, we are bound together on a very basic level. Without a specific mating link, one can mate with any desired partner.” He finally turned to look directly at Kirk. “Jim, I had not thought of being with you in pon farr. I had thought to make other arrangements for my Time, and if…if we were still lovers, and if you still desired me, I would return to you. Jim—for now, I wish to be with you in the human way.” 

“Spock, I don’t want to change you. I don’t want to take anything from you. You say you don’t need the link…Do you mean that? Or are you settling for something less than you could have, just because I’m human?” 

There was naked pain in Spock’s eyes. “Jim, I do not wish to be linked again in that fashion. I wish you to understand this. All the mating link was for me was betrayal.” He swallowed, and linked his hands behind his back, out of reach of Kirk’s touch. “I was aware of T’Pring on some level...always in my mind.” He stared at the flooring between them. “Her presence was a minor irritation only. I was aware of the presence of the link if I focused on it, and I chose not to focus on it. It was not right or just, to either of us, to have been tied together. She did not wish it. I did not wish it. I had thought this reluctance a human flaw in me—that since I did not want to be tied to her, she did not want to be tied to me. Yet, I had assumed we would both do our duty.”

“It wouldn’t be like that with us.”

“You do not know what it would be like for us. Nor do I.” He paused. “Jim...I do not think I can explain to you the—relief I experienced, the freedom I…felt—once the link was broken and she was truly gone. It was as if a burden I was wholly unaware of was suddenly taken away. To be chained to another like that...It is not something I can permit you to experience. Ever.”

Kirk nodded. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re right—I didn’t understand. I had no idea what this meant to you.” He extended his right hand, letting it pause in the air between them. Spock, after a brief moment, brought his hands out from behind his back and clasped Jim’s hand with both of his own. Kirk laid his left hand on top of Spock’s, and felt the strong fingers squeeze his right hand. “I’m sorry.” Kirk met Spock’s gaze, and found forgiveness there.

“Jim. Do you still wish to go to bed?”

Kirk’s erection had long since vanished, but he knew nothing kept it away for long. And if not, it would be good just to hold Spock. He felt they both needed it.

“Yes, Spock. I do.” But he made no further move, and Spock drew him to the side of the bed and let his robe fall open. It was Spock who gently moved Kirk down to lie on his back on the bed, Spock’s kisses and caresses that aroused him back to life, and when his lover climaxed inside him, the sight of that face devastated with passion obliterated the image of Spock as he had looked when he penetrated Qonyh’s mind. 

At least for the moment….


	4. Chapter 4

* * * * *

 

The rest of their mission to Cygnus Delta was routine. Negotiations began, studies were taken, and reports were made. 

Juarez’s team took over, and soon the Enterprise was heading out to her next mission. On the ship again, Kirk found it easy to get back into his routine. Things eased back to normal between him and Spock. They didn’t talk about his request for a meld, and sex was as good as or better than before. Yet Kirk felt the slightest withdrawal between them, the slightest hint that their different needs had created a tiny gap: a gap he was determined to fill, to cover over, to heal. And so he behaved as always, and so did Spock, and nothing more was said.

* * * * *

Captains Log, Stardate 3953.3: We are on course to Anton’s World, responding to an emergency distress signal from the Cassini, a scientific survey vessel carrying twenty crewmembers, that has been damaged in an ion storm and has landed on Anton’s World for repairs. They do not have all the necessary components to effect repairs and some crew have also sustained minor injuries, including their medic. 

Landing Party will consist of Dr. McCoy, Security Specialist Carstairs, Security Specialist Kwaze, Yeoman Jamal, and myself.

Anton’s World has been thoroughly surveyed in the past, and contains nothing of interest to the Federation. The indigenous cultures are too low on the industrial scale for first contact. The Prime Directive is in effect. The Cassini crew indicates they have been able to avoid contact with the natives…. 

 

Kirk stepped away from the semi-conscious man and felt the sting of split knuckles and the throb of what would be bruises on his torso. Wild applause sounded, echoing off the stone walls. He turned toward the pavilion that housed Mahdul, who was the Triena, or ruler of K’teu, the city-state where the Cassini crew was being held captive.

She was the only one of her people who was not applauding Kirk’s defeat of their champion, but her painted lips were stretched in an approving smile. He grinned at her and strode across the arena to accept her accolades.

Like all missions that should have been routine, this one wasn’t. There had been no signs of the Cassini’s crew when the landing party had beamed down, merely the half-repaired ship, obviously abandoned in haste. Sensor scans had shown the entire crew complement was now inside this walled city.

Previous surveys of Anton’s World had been “distance” anthropological work. The first officer had, of course, requested to join the landing party, but this wasn’t a scientific survey, it was a rescue mission. Kirk wanted Spock onboard, continuing his research into the K’Teu culture, and in command should anything go wrong.

Clothed in costumes that would mark them as wealthy nobles of Phelanos, a distant city-state, the Enterprise landing party had boldly walked up to the city gate and politely requested the return of their people. Spock had supplied them with plenty of the local valuables—an array of emeralds and sapphires—but even a fortune in gems hadn’t been enough to ransom the captives.

Ritual combat with the town’s champion had also been required. Both Kwaze and Carstairs had eagerly volunteered, but Kirk had taken on this job himself.

The champion had been a huge hulk who’d viewed Kirk with barely-veiled contempt.

He’d lasted less than a minute. Kirk had dispatched him quickly with a wildly eclectic variety of combat techniques. Now, still charged with adrenaline, he faced the city’s queen.

Mahdul was magnificent. A wild tangle of coppery hair surrounded her strong, sensual face. Her clothing—a variety of brown leather straps and quite a lot of green velvet—emphasized her large-busted figure. Kirk had a very good opportunity to admire that bust, as her breasts had been left bare except for some coppery decorative patterns painted around her nipples. Leather strapping criss-crossed her chest, beginning just below her breasts, and a wide belt cinched her waist. Her skirt was split all the way up her thighs, and it was entirely obvious she wore nothing beneath.

She nodded imperiously, and the crowd roared again. One gesture, and her soldiers brought the landing party forward from a viewing area to the left of the pavilion.

Mahdul beckoned him forward and he joined her beneath the shade of the multi-colored pavilion. “You are ‘Kirk’?” Her husky voice caressed his name.

“Yes, Triena.” He bowed respectfully, inhaling the strong scent of the spicy musky perfume that clung to her like an aura.

She extended a hand. Her long fingernails were lacquered in flashing gold, and her hands and arms were decorated with more of the coppery arabesques. He touched her fingertips respectfully, as he knew was their custom. She turned her hand palm-upward and grasped his, squeezing it tightly. “You fought well. Arkthel has never been defeated.”

Aware of the angry gaze of the defeated champion burning his back, he put boastful pride in his voice. “Neither have I.”

Gold flashed in her teeth as she smiled. “A true champion.”

“Will you now accept my gift of the jewels in exchange for our people?”

“The captives have become fine servants. They are worth more than you have offered.”

The game was afoot, something Kirk enjoyed more than he ever would admit. He grinned and named another price; she countered with one much higher. A furious round of bargaining ensued. Kirk was careful not to offer too much too fast; the Enterprise labs could simply manufacture an unlimited quantity of the emeralds and sapphires, but he’d encountered this sort of game in other cultures and knew the importance of proper haggling.

Finally a deal was struck.

“Done.” She favored him with another smile. “Come. We will go to my palace to seal the bargain.”

A large beast was brought forward; it was approximately the size of a Terran elephant, but it had neither the trunk nor tusks. A riding cage was saddled to its back; portable stairs allowed them easy access, and they were shortly riding through the wide filthy streets of K’Teu. The rest of the landing party followed on smaller animals that resembled burros, and the entire parade was accompanied by a large retinue of soldiers.

“I am interested in learning much more about Phelanos.” Mahdul leaned toward Kirk.

The sway and motion of the giant animal assisted in her display of her ample bosom. Kirk dragged his eyes away and met her hungry gaze. Smiling his most charming smile, he launched into a long, fancifully embroidered tale based loosely on information Spock had provided about their supposed home.

He was only getting started when they reached her palace, a massive pink stone sprawl cluttered with columns, recesses, and fancifully menacing gargoyles. A retinue of attendants erupted out of the palace, all clad in short linen loincloths, leather sandals, belts and strapping across their chests. They assisted Mahdul and Kirk down from their animal. Kirk was relieved to see McCoy and the rest of the landing party moving forward to join him.

The entire landing party was led into a massive chamber. Kirk caught brief glimpses of painted ceilings and niches filled with statuary before the press of people surrounded them, all bowing and making obsequious gestures to Mahdul as she strode toward a curtained doorway.

She paused and faced the crowd, making a brief crook of one finger. A tall man with a scarred face was instantly at her side. “Make our guests comfortable in the Crimson Room, and send for the captives. When they are brought, place them also in the Crimson Room, and await my word.”

“Immediately, Triena.”

She reached out and grasped Kirk’s hand, gold-nailed fingers pressing tightly, then led him beyond the doorway. He followed her up a winding stone staircase that ascended at least three floors—and opened into a sumptuous bedchamber, thickly curtained, illuminated by dozens of oil lamps, and crammed with art objects.

Eyes glittering, she reclined on an enormous bed, stretching sensuously against an array of tasseled pillows. Her skirt parted, revealing two long, finely-muscled legs, and a copper tangle of hair between them.

His cock, already filling at the sight and the intoxicating scent of her, knew what it wanted to do. His instinct told him to play this game exactly as it was unfolding. But he hesitated. 

Spock. We never discussed this possibility—this probability. And we never discussed fidelity.

He waited a moment too long; she propped herself up on her elbows and favored him with an unpleasant scowl. “Are the men of Phelanos not men after all? Is your vigor and strength limited to the art of war?”

“We separate the arts of war from the arts of pleasure.”

“And what of the art of business?” A dangerous light flashed in her eyes. “We have not concluded our bargaining. Do you insult me by hesitating at the final step?”

Kirk instantly knew what he was required to do. “Never, great Queen.” He made his voice low, seductive. “I did not want to offend you by closing our deal too quickly. I thought you might want to rest first—”

She shook her head and laughed. “You are strange indeed. I must wonder at the manhood of those from Phelanos.” She leaned back against her pillows and trailed a hand down her body, parting the fabric of her skirt even as she parted her legs. “I am ready for you. But if you are not ready for me, you may join the captives, and we will keep your jewels as a token-price.”

Kirk stripped off his clothing, noting that Mahdul’s eyes had widened in delighted anticipation and her face was transformed by a lustful smile. It was all too easy to caress that soft yielding flesh, all too pleasurable to bury his face in those ample breasts, to explore and lick their round fullness, to suck and bite the eager nipples. Thrusting himself into the wet satiny depths of her body, he pumped deeply, forcefully, encouraged by long fingernails raking across his back. And when climax shuddered through her and she screamed like a cat in heat, he heard his own triumphant voice as he came violently inside her spasming body. 

Later, lying next to her, he thought of the mission, and found it easy to say all the right words. He was damn good at this, using seduction to achieve success. It had always worked for him in the past and nothing had changed.

Of course, that was before Spock and I became lovers, Kirk thought restively, a twinge of guilt needling him. Kirk tried to push the dismal feeling aside; Spock would certainly understand, even concede that such an act was logical in situations like this. After all, it’s not like I had a choice, Kirk rationalized. And yet, in spite of the justification, the pang of guilt returned full force. But did I have to enjoy it so much? His pleasure, more than the actual act, made this seem like betrayal.  
Kirk repressed a sigh. That tidbit of detail would remain his secret. He’d just explain the facts, tell Spock the truth—without divulging any unnecessary information.

* * * * *

 

The world rearranged itself into the familiar, welcoming transporter room. He smiled at Spock, positioned behind the transporter controls, and was rewarded by a welcoming light softening the brown eyes.

Kirk stepped down from the transporter pad, the last remaining members of the Cassini’s complement moving with him. M’Benga was waiting for them, and quickly had the new arrivals sorted out and headed off to Sickbay.

Kirk stopped a foot away from his first officer, very glad to be back home. “I’m going to go to my quarters and change—meet you on the bridge.” He headed toward the corridor, aware that he desperately needed a shower. Mahdul’s people didn’t seem to believe in bathing, and he stank—from combat, from sex, and from the lingering scent of Mahdul’s strong spicy perfume.

Instead of departing as he had hoped, Spock fell in step beside him. “You are technically off duty now—it’s halfway through second shift.”

Kirk grinned easily as they strode down the hall. “You know how it is, I always like to check in when I get back, no matter what time it is.”

As they paused before the turbolift door he threw Spock a glance, and surprised a look of unease on the Vulcan’s face. Kirk wished their quarters were on the same level as the transporter room. He didn’t want to be inside the turbolift with Spock now—but he couldn’t think of any good reason around it. 

They stepped into the turbolift and the door closed behind them. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a tiny motion; Spock shifted a few centimeters closer, his nostrils flaring slightly. Then the Vulcan’s face settled into stillness, brows knitted over dark, cold eyes.

When the turbolift door opened, Spock did not continue onward to the bridge, but exited along with Kirk. In silence, they crossed the expanse of hallway to Kirk’s quarters.

Kirk paused at his door, growing increasingly uneasy. “I’ll just be a few minutes… Why don’t I meet you in the rec room? I’m starving.” 

The door opened, and Kirk walked in. Spock, quite uncharacteristically ignoring a suggestion, followed on his heels.

Playing for time, unsure what to say, Kirk ignored Spock’s presence, and started to grab for his shirt, ready to pull it off. An instant later he remembered the sting of Madhul’s nails, and hesitated.

“Jim.”

He heard pain in that syllable. Pain, and suspicion.

He halted on his way to the bathroom and turned to face Spock. “Yes?”

“You…” Spock suddenly turned away, but Kirk could see that the Vulcan’s hands were clenched tightly. 

“Spock,” Kirk said as gently as he could, “something did happen down there, and we need to talk about it. Let me change, and then let’s have dinner and—”

Without warning, Spock pivoted around and lunged. Strong hands grabbed Kirk, dragged him close, and then the Vulcan buried his face into Kirk’s neck, exactly where Madhul had bitten and licked his throat. A wet tongue came out, tracing the same path Madhul had taken, but the pressure was hard and rough, an assault upon his skin. Alarmed, Kirk reached to embrace him, but Spock instantly pulled back, hot anger glowing in his dark eyes, igniting flecks of flame in the inky irises.

“Spock, let me go, we need to talk—”

But Spock did not let go, he intensified his hold, and with an unexpected movement he grabbed the neck of Kirk’s shirt with both hands and ripped the fabric. The material parted with a shocking tear and the pieces fell to the floor. 

Kirk saw Spock’s gaze magnetize on the bite marks on his throat and shoulder. An instant later teeth found one of the ragged marks and bit down hard on his skin.

He jerked at the sudden hot pain. “Spock!”

Whipping his head up, Spock grabbed him by the shoulders and dug his fingers in deeply. Kirk tried not to flinch—both from his own pain, and the pain and rage in the now threatening eyes that pierced his own. 

“Spock—please.”

Spock cut him off with a harsh Vulcan word, which the universal translator embedded behind Kirk’s left ear translated as “link-breaker”. Kirk’s wrists were seized in a bruising grip and Spock spat another word at him. The translator staticked for a second, veering between interpretations, before settling on “promiscuous.”

“Spock—” Desperately, he tried again, and for a moment he felt relief when Spock released his wrists. But the respite was shortlived. Spock’s hands darted to the waistband of Kirk’s pants, his fingers clutched the material, and with a violent downward pull he abruptly tore the fabric. Kirk reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. Spock grabbed hold of his wrists again and yanked hard.

Kirk knew he had to stop this and stop it now. Everything was spiraling out of control. A hot adrenaline rush kicked in, fueled by anger and fear. Kirk threw all his weight into twisting away, attempting to break Spock’s hold, but the Vulcan’s grip tightened, bone deep and resilient. Kirk automatically swung a leg to kick Spock’s legs out from beneath him, but the Vulcan anticipated the move, effectively blocking the strike. In the space of a heartbeat, Spock pivoted behind Kirk, and trapped Kirk’s hands behind his back. Without his shirt, Kirk knew that Spock would see all the scratch marks marring his back.

Spock suddenly released his wrists only to imprison him another way, with his arms around Kirk’s biceps and meeting in front of Kirk’s chest. Kirk could feel the hardness of Spock’s cock thrust aggressively against his ass. Without warning, Spock bit the back of his neck, sinking his teeth in until he drew blood.

A shudder of pain radiated through Kirk and he cried out despite himself. He counterattacked by twisting, struggling, thrashing. A dozen martial-arts moves sprang to mind, and he used all of them with every ounce of his strength and skill, trying to use his opponent’s strength to break free. But Spock countered each one, and Kirk soon found himself on the floor, pinned on his back. No matter what move he tried, the Vulcan compensated for it. This was no friendly work-out in the gym, but a battle which Spock was determined to win at all costs.

An eerie silence filled the room, broken only by his quick, hard gasps and the sound of Spock breathing heavily in his ear.

He became dimly aware of the material of his torn shirt bunched beneath his back, and the kiss of the cold metal deck against his bare skin, but he willed himself to lie entirely still, except for the heaving of his chest as he gasped for air. Then a new sensation: Spock ground his pelvis into Kirk’s groin and began rubbing the length of his enormous, rigid cock against Kirk’s thigh. His forceful hands gripped the sides of Kirk’s head, and his hard, unyielding lips claimed his mouth in a bruising kiss. Cautiously, slowly, Kirk snaked his hands behind Spock’s back, softened them into a caress, and pushed his groin up against Spock’s erection. It had the desired effect.

Spock relaxed his guard, and Kirk used that moment of distraction to shift, to heave, and to twist; he managed to break away and gain his feet. Spock leaped up as well, but Kirk was already at the door, gasping, with sweat running down his face and body, ready to make his escape.

For an instant, their chests heaving, they glared at each other. Kirk felt his brain working madly. If he left the room, Spock would certainly follow—and here he was, shirtless, his trousers rent and about to fall down, and Spock—Spock was practically out of his mind and might do anything, even in front of the crew. If they were seen by anyone, they could both kiss the respect of the crew goodbye, and possibly their careers along with it.

God, Spock, please don’t do this to us. Please don’t do this to yourself.

Although Spock hadn’t moved a muscle, he seemed ready to spring at Kirk at any moment. There was a feral light in his dark eyes, terrifyingly like pon farr, and suddenly Kirk realized he might have triggered that condition, that insanity. Guilt washed over him.

No. I can’t go. I caused this—I’ll see this out—no matter what.

He spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Spock,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. Please listen to me. I want to make amends.”

A tiny light of sanity re-entered Spock’s eyes. “You—” Spock’s voice was guttural, barely recognizable.

“Spock—let me help you, I want to help you.” He kept his voice low, non-threatening.

Spock shuddered, a spasm shaking his entire body. “No,” he hissed.

“What would you like to do?”

No answer.

“Then tell me what I can do. What do you want?”

His eyes blazing, Spock ground out between clenched teeth. “I want to fuck you.”

Kirk hesitated. This was not going to be pleasant, but did he have a choice? Gathering his courage, knowing in his heart that Spock wouldn’t seriously harm him, he replied hoarsely, “All right. If that’s what you need, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

He forced himself to stay still as Spock warily approached him, and when the terrifyingly strong arms enfolded him in a crushing grip he returned the hard embrace, pushing back against Spock as hard as he could, feeling the imprint of Spock’s burning cock through what little remained of his clothing. He turned his head to meet Spock’s face, their teeth clashing as Spock dragged his mouth against his, tearing the corner of his lip so that blood and sweat dripped between them.

Spock caught him around the waist with both hands, and lifted. Kirk gasped as he was forcibly hoisted into the air, carried, and then tossed on the bed.

Grabbing Kirk’s shredded waistband, Spock finished ripping the material until it fell wide.

“Spock, let me take off my boots.”

Spock pulled back a bare inch; Kirk sat back abruptly on the bed and looked up at the Vulcan looming over him. Their gazes caught, held. Kirk felt magnetized by the intensity of those hungry, anguished eyes. Without looking away, Kirk pulled off his boots, then, pushing up slightly, he ripped away what remained of his trousers.

Spock bent toward him, dug his hands into Kirk’s biceps, hauled him to his knees, turned him and pushed his clothed groin against Kirk’s buttocks.

“Spock, let me get the lube.” Kirk managed to keep his voice quiet, despite conflicting impulses of fear, of anger, of guilt. 

“Get it.” Spock snapped impatiently, his voice gravelly, barely recognizable. Kirk quickly moved across the bed to palm the headboard cabinet open. Retrieving and opening the tube, he spread a generous measure on his palm as he turned back. 

Spock had pulled off his own clothing, pieces of which were strewn about the floor. He was hugely erect, his cock as large as Kirk had ever seen it.

“Let me…” Kirk whispered.

Spock managed an abrupt nod, and Kirk quickly applied a large amount of the cream to himself, not wanting to touch Spock until he was at least prepared in that manner. Spock’s eyes narrowed to slits, and Kirk moved quickly to the end of the bed, lavishing the cream on the steel-hard penis, which was now flushed an angry green. With each stroke it jerked powerfully, hungrily, as if it had a will of its own.

Spock growled in growing impatience, and glancing up, Kirk saw that his eyes were as inflamed as they had been on the sands of Vulcan. Quickly turning over, Kirk hiked his ass in the air, and an instant later rough hands found his buttocks, parted them, and the familiar head of Spock’s penis found the opening. Kirk hardly had time to take a quick, calming breath before pain and intense, unrelenting pressure tore through his anus; in one brutal thrust Spock had buried himself entirely inside Kirk.

Bending over his back, Spock fucked him in hard, penetrating strokes, making inchoate groans and panting half-whispered Vulcan words that jammed together and wouldn’t translate. Kirk gasped as Spock bit at his back, again and again. All the marks Madhul had made on his skin were set ablaze as Spock sank his teeth into each one. Spock raked his nails against Kirk’s back, crosshatching Madhul’s marks with new ones of his own. 

Kirk fought against the agony, forced himself not to struggle, and shoved down the fear when a rough hand harshly fondled his limp cock. He hoped for a moment he’d become hard, so some part of him could enjoy this, but felt paradoxically grateful when his cock stayed limp.

Spock continued to fuck him savagely, without mercy, and it went on and on until Kirk felt an arm wrap around his chest, tight as a metal band, making it impossible for him to breathe. Panicking, he wheezed as loud as he could, and was able to pull in enough breath to croak, “Spock!” The arm withdrew. Kirk gulped in air, grateful that some part of Spock was still aware of him, still conscious he had a partner, that he hadn’t gone into a completely mindless rut. But was Spock even aware of exactly whom he was fucking? Or was Kirk merely a warm body, a receptacle for Spock’s unrelenting madness?

In an attempt to remind Spock who he was with, he began to move back against Spock the way he knew his lover liked it, clenching the muscles of his ass around the heated cock plowing into him. But all he felt was Spock’s cock violating him, again and again.

It hurt, but he’d felt worse, much worse, and it was Spock doing this to him; Spock, who he loved. He considered saying some of the things he always said when they made love, but the words stuck in his throat like wet clumps of sand.

Rage and love and pain and guilt snarled together in a knot in his chest; he couldn’t untangle it under the force of that cock splitting him open. The fingers continued to find new places to bruise and scratch his flesh, digging deep into the muscles of his arms, pushing at his shoulders, forcing him down further against the mattress. 

Spock’s breath began to rise in harsh gasps; his rhythm quickened and changed. “Yes, Spock, yes,” Kirk gasped out, praying that the end was finally near, and he pushed back as Spock thrust forward. Spock let out a primal howl, and frantically pumped; liquid heat exploded inside Kirk. The searing ejaculations seemed to go on and on, then Spock’s passionate cry turned into a sob and he collapsed over Kirk’s back.

* * * * *

 

Some infinite time later, Kirk felt the body covering him shift, then move in slow, painful, jerky motions. His skin was sticky; it seemed to cling to Spock’s where their sweat had glued them together. Kirk lay still, not wanting to trigger a fresh round of violence. A long-fingered hand touched the side of his neck, feeling the pulse point. Both of Spock’s hands brushed lightly against his temples, then suddenly withdrew. 

Kirk felt, rather than saw, Spock get abruptly to his feet. He turned to his side, ignoring every ache in his body, and caught a glimpse of Spock as he headed for the commlink.

“Spock, stop.”

The Vulcan’s head jerked up, and for a moment Kirk caught sight of Spock’s anguished gaze, his face salt-white in the darkness, before Spock turned back to the commlink and rested his hand on it. “I will call Dr. McCoy.”

“No, you won’t.” Ignoring the pain in his abused body, Kirk got to his feet. “This is none of his business.”

“You are injured.” The words were flat. Spock kept his position, half-turned away from Kirk.

“No, I’m not,” Kirk lied, outraged nerves protesting against each movement he made. Gingerly, he walked slowly across the room and joined Spock at the commlink. Spock stared vacantly at the floor. “Don’t call McCoy. That’s a direct order.”

Spock squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then abruptly turned and disappeared into the head. A moment later, and Kirk heard the hiss of the connecting door between the bathroom and Spock’s quarters open, then shut.

Disregarding the feel of every imprint of Spock’s bruising grip on his body, the sting of the bites and scratches, Kirk went into the bathroom, ready to palm Spock’s door open, when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He looked like shit, but that didn’t matter. He felt like shit, but that didn’t matter. He had to fix this, somehow, and now, or else he would lose everything.

He had one hand on the closed door before he caught a whiff of himself—Mahdul!— and, cursing, he started the shower. He stepped into warm water and soaped and scrubbed, then used the air dryer, beating his best record by seconds. Once he stepped outside, reassured that he no longer smelled of Madhul, he stepped up to the door that separated them.

“Spock.” There was no response. “Spock, I want to talk to you.” 

Still no response came from beyond that closed door.

“Spock, I’m coming in.” 

The door opened to his touch. He had thought Spock would lock it against him, and he’d been ready to open it with captain’s authority. The unlocked door gave him a tiny fraction of hope. Part of him was furious, wanting to erupt into anger, but he bit it back. He would deal with it later.

A wall of heat hit him as he stepped inside, and he guessed the temperature to be at least 100 degrees Fahrenheit. 

The lights in Spock’s cabin were low; erratic flickers from the firepot revealed Spock, still naked, seated on his bed, his shoulders slumped, head dropped forward.

Kirk started to step forward—then realized he, too, was still naked, and every mark of violence Spock had used against him was plainly visible on his body.

He glanced around quickly, palmed open the wardrobe, grabbed Spock’s Vulcan robe and wrapped it around himself. It was too long, it trailed on the floor, and it fit him oddly around the chest, but it did cover him completely, and the embrace of the material was almost like his friend’s embrace, so familiar was it from many long shared evenings.

“Spock.” Kirk kept his voice low and gentle as he moved into the sleeping area. Every muscle in Spock’s body tensed, and the silhouette of the Vulcan’s face turned a fraction of an inch further away.

Kirk slowly circled around the foot of the bed. Spock didn’t move, but his ragged, uneven breath stilled and became more controlled. Kirk paused, looking down at the forlorn, bowed head. A moment’s silence stretched between them.

“Spock,” he whispered again.

Spock did not look up. “How can you look at me?” The deep baritone was barely audible.

Kirk reached down, soothingly trailing his fingers against the silky black hair. Retreating from the touch, Spock dropped his head lower.

“Please leave.” A spike of pain abruptly tore through Spock’s voice, pain threatening to spill over into tears.

“Spock, look at me,” Kirk asked softly, but the Vulcan didn’t move. His body gave the impression of being carved from marble: every muscle seemed frozen into place. Kirk sighed heavily. “Will you at least accept my apology?”

“Apology?” The word burst from Spock’s lips in unrepressed bitterness. “It is I who should ask forgiveness from you.” 

“Will you talk with me?”

Finally, Spock looked up, his face naked, full of anguish. “I have done the unforgivable.”

Kirk dropped to his knees, putting himself on the same level as Spock. “Don’t say that. We can talk about this. I hurt you—I didn’t mean to, but I hurt you.” Kirk swallowed hard, hating to see the pain in Spock’s eyes, and hastily added: “There’s so much we haven’t talked about, that we need to work out.”

Spock clenched his eyes tightly shut, and Kirk reached up to rest his hand on Spock’s shoulder. “That woman on the planet didn’t mean anything to me.”

Flinching beneath Kirk’s touch, Spock opened his eyes, but he avoided any eye contact by focusing his gaze on the floor. “I do not wish to change your nature,” he said woodenly. “This is who you are. I have always known and accepted this…until…” Spock’s words died off.

“What I did was just for the sake of the mission.” Kirk could think of at least a dozen times where he’d done the same thing, but of all of those, only his pretense of playing Sylvia’s game of seduction had occurred after he had become involved with Spock. And, with Sylvia, it had been just words and caresses; it hadn’t gone any further.

“Yes. I understand. I cannot think why I did not comprehend this—earlier.”

“We should have talked about this possibility before. I’m sorry we didn’t. It was my fault. I haven’t been thinking things through.” Kirk tightened his grip on the thin shoulders, then thought better of it. Gentleness was what was needed here; not anything harsh. He reached to smooth Spock’s hair again, then placed a gentle kiss on his furrowed forehead.

Spock finally looked up. His gaze veered from Kirk’s eyes, to higher, where Kirk could feel drops of sweat trickling downward.

“Computer, adjust temperature to 80 degrees Fahrenheit.” Spock’s voice was reasonably calm, almost at normal levels. 

The temperature immediately cooled, but within minutes a noticeable shiver passed through Spock’s nude body. Kirk reached for the blanket, neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and wrapped it around Spock, who accepted the gesture with a soft sigh of gratitude. The sound gave Kirk the encouragement he needed to sit next to Spock, to slip an arm around his back.

Angling his body so he could look directly at his lover’s downturned face, he summoned up his courage to ask, “Are we bonded?”

The inky black eyes widened in surprise. “You know that is not true.”

“How would I know? I don’t know what’s involved—what it would feel like. Spock, we are so compatible—so in sync—on missions, it’s almost as if we can read each other’s minds. We don’t have to speak to know what we need to do—it’s as if there is only one of us, sometimes, not two different people.” Spock didn’t respond, and Kirk, unsure if he should speak the words, spoke them anyway. “Spock—you called me a link-breaker.” 

When the translator shivered the word into the Vulcan term, Spock abruptly turned away.

Undaunted, Kirk’s hands closed around the thin shoulders and he pulled the unresisting Vulcan to face him. “What did you mean by that?”

“I had no right to say that. That I did so fills me with shame; I have no claim on you.”

“Spock,” Kirk pressed. “Spock, are we bonded?”

“I did not initiate such a link.”

“Then how do you explain what’s happening between us? I have never trusted anyone more than I have trusted you, to always be at my back, to offer the support I need, to point out my mistakes when I need to be reminded of them. You are always exactly where I need you to be when I need you to be there. Is it possible that we could be bound together, perhaps permanently, and not know it?”

Spock hesitated, seemingly searching for an answer that Kirk could understand. “While it is accurate that our minds have become fully attuned to each other and we can communicate on an intimate level far beyond normal modes of interaction, we are not bonded, at least not in the way you understand it. This affinity, although rare, is called ‘kav’ti’ja’.”

“What happened in my cabin went far beyond mere hypersensitivity to each other’s thoughts. I can’t shake the feeling that we are, in fact, bonded. Prove to me that I’m wrong. Meld with me.”

“We have previously discussed that issue,” Spock responded tersely, the timber of his voice shadowed with anger. “My answer remains the same.”

“All right. Then answer this—if you were bonded to another, what would happen if your mate was unfaithful?”

“I do not see the relevance in asking —”

“—What happened to T’Pring following the kalifee, after McCoy and I beamed up? At the time, the only thing you said was the bond had been broken, but what were the repercussions, the ramifications? Something else occurred down there, didn’t it?”

An ominous flush spread across Spock’s features. “I do not wish to speak of her, or that incident.”

“Then tell me why you called me a link-breaker.”

“Jim, please…” Spock suddenly implored, pulling the blanket more tightly around his body as if the thin material could provide some kind of frail defense. “It serves no purpose to continue.”

“Isn’t it logical to deal with this now rather than later? Avoiding the issue won’t solve anything.”

Spock turned away, but Kirk moved around to face him again. “Even though I don’t hold you responsible in any way, I have to know why you lost control earlier. Can you guarantee that it won’t happen again someday? If not, then meld with me. Don’t be afraid to show me the truth, to share with me what the future might hold for us.”

Spock glanced up, then reached out to touch a bruise on Kirk’s face. “You do not wish to see what is in my mind.”

Kirk laughed shakily. “I’m not entirely sure I want you to see everything that’s in mine, either.” 

“You do not know what you are asking for. It is dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?”

“There is too much emotion—I cannot control—I cannot even understand what it is I am feeling.”

Kirk seized the moment. “I understand emotion, Spock. Let me guide you; show me what you’re feeling. Open up to me—I can help you through the process.”

Adamantly, Spock shook his head.

Kirk’s frustration rocketed. For a fleeting moment, he had never felt so thwarted, so exasperated, so frustrated with his own inability to get through to Spock.

Without warning, hardly conscious of his own intentions or actions, Kirk grabbed Spock’s hand, forced it to his face, then pressed the feverhot fingers into a meld configuration. Instantly, there was a magnetic shock that vibrated throughout Kirk’s entire body. He felt as if Spock’s hand wasn’t resting on the surface of the skin but had sunk somehow beneath. Kirk seized on the sensation and pulled inward with his mind.

Instantly, he felt something pull back. He immediately countered, and captured Spock’s face with his own hand, his fingers urgently finding, then bearing down into the Vulcan’s meld-points.

The sharp image of Spock’s intent face before his eyes blurred, slipped sideways and another image painted itself over what his eyes saw; the vision of the two of them, his hands, palms flat, pressing back against Spock’s hands, both of them standing resolutely in place, pushing as hard against each other as they could.

An odd dizziness hit him; he fought it fiercely. Somewhere, sweat dripped into his eyes. But here, retreated away from the material world, he pressed grimly against Spock’s hands, against the barrier Spock had erected between them. He felt Spock thrust back, just as determined to keep him out. 

The image of how Spock had overpowered him suddenly filled his mind; a sharp clear memory of how the Vulcan’s strength had completely immobilized him, held him powerless against ruthless lust, unable to affect the outcome.

Anger flared bright; he took the vision and twisted it—now it was he on top, and Spock was defenseless, trapped beneath him. His imaginary arms, inexplicably stronger than Spock’s, held his lover down, immobilizing him with the weight of his body. The awareness that Spock was his in every way, sent a fire raging through him. He was filled with the need to utterly possess the unattainable, to own Spock’s very soul.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew it was wrong, but the vision and feelings it triggered were too powerful to resist. For once, if only in his thoughts, he could dominate Spock through sheer physical strength, and the thrill of this newfound knowledge raced through his veins like wildfire. It instantly aroused a primitive passion in him that was exhilarating.

His cock throbbed, hardened, a steel shaft ready to breach any barrier. Here, despite everything, regardless of the illogic of it, he was as strong or stronger. Here, he could push back. Here, he could penetrate through Spock’s fear and reticence and take control.

At that realization he felt something give, something retreat, and there was the sudden sensation of falling through surface tension, like water, only much stronger. It was as if he had breached a force field; one second he was confined, trapped—the next he was liberated, free, floating weightless.

He fell—a sudden short jolting drop—then everything focused into hyper clarity, and he was staring into his own face.

The detail was astonishing. He could see every eyelash defined around his eyes, distinguish the pores mapping his skin, observe the tracery of each shaft of hair. For a long moment, he simply stared at himself, aware of nothing else and then another peculiar manifestation claimed his attention. He found himself gazing at the orange-red of the draperies, aware that the color was almost a living entity, somehow warmer, sharper, more vivid than anything he’d ever seen. 

His gaze shifted in slow degrees, noting differences in light, acuity and color. Everything he looked at seemed in hyper-sharp focus, almost to the molecular level.

And hearing…he could hear breathing—down to the flow of air in tiny passageways where carbon dioxide and oxygen were exchanged inside two sets of lungs. His ears picked up the life processes of two dissimilar bodies; blood coursing, throbbing, and the sound of two heartbeats; one slow, strong, loud—the other rapid, fainter, blurred. 

Even the walls of the cabin were alive with sounds, and he focused on the subtle hums and sifting noises of the environmental systems. Outside, in the corridor, past the supposedly soundproofed walls, he detected clear snatches of conversation. Ensign Cho and Yeoman Barrows. And, beneath everything else, he could hear the infinitesimal thrum and pulse of the Enterprise engines.

Then, suddenly, he was keenly conscious of smell: the scent of Spock’s skin, musty with the aftermath of lust, and the odor of his own sweat and blood, still clinging to Spock’s flesh. The fresh aroma of the soap on his own body mingled with his human pheromones. And in that heady mix, Madhul’s scent was…gone. No trace of it remained to taunt him. It was as if she had never existed.

In a flash, a solitary emotion pierced his brain like a shaft of light—gratitude. His? Spock’s? He couldn’t tell, but almost immediately the sensory overload eased, and he felt a presence beside him, like an invisible current of energy, a life-force he recognized, knew.

//Spock? Where are you?//

A flood of confused emotion enveloped him, then just as quickly cut off. In its wake, only one word echoed through his brain: //Impossible.// 

//No, it’s not impossible. Let me in, Spock.// 

It was a command. It was a plea.

It was ignored.

Instead, another image appeared. He had often seen nesting boxes; opening the first box revealed another, smaller one beneath, and within that, yet another and another. Kirk could feel himself attenuate, reaching out in every way he could and yet nothing of Spock drew him in. Once one barrier was breached, he realized with despair, there were an infinity more—featureless and vast, tight and secure. There was no way in…or out.

//Spock—look into my mind, find in my thoughts what I can’t verbalize, find in my heart what I can’t express.// He concentrated as hard and clearly as he could, each thought on his desperate need for Spock to hear and listen to the truth. But snarled beneath it, the tangle of guilt and anger rose up like poison weeds, strangling the beauty and purity of the love he felt for Spock. He frantically ripped at the venomous tendrils, crushed the toxic creeping vines, but for each one he destroyed, two more sprang up.

Suddenly his eyes flew open again, and it was his own face he was looking at, but now he, they were on Vulcan. Spock’s hands—no—their hands clutched at the ahn woon, and together they strangled the all-too-familiar human that lay limp on the scorching sand.. Breath burned in their chest, the remnants of lust and rage spiked through their nerves, and the first wave of agonized grief crested like a tsunami.

//Don’t look at that!// Kirk flung the horrendous thought into the cosmic void.

The image altered; everything remained the same, except instead of Kirk’s body lying helpless in the straps of the ahn woon, it was Stonn’s. Murderous satisfaction filled his mind as he tightened the cords and the face of the mate-stealer contorted with the agonies of death. Then Stonn vanished, and lying in his place was the severely battered form of T’Pring, choking for one denied final breath. The surge of pleasure as he took her life found its match in his rampant flesh; his cock let loose its burden of seed, soaking his clothing. 

Then T’Pring was gone, along with the red sands of Vulcan. Oil-lamps lit the wild passion on Mahdul’s face; luxurious fabrics tangled with their bodies as she raked her nails across Kirk’s back, demanding more. Kirk found himself climaxing inside her, watching her face contort—not with choking pain, but with wanton pleasure. 

//She meant nothing to me!// The thought was a scream of guilt and anger.

//Than why do you do it? Do they all mean nothing to you?// 

He struggled for words, but the concepts and images were ahead of him. Part of him grabbed out for Spock, desperate to prevent this final fall, not wanting to admit there were buried memories he didn’t want to look at. The images were relentless. He was suddenly seized and turned, and found himself standing in some other time, some other place, facing an ornate mirror. 

Tarsus, he thought. I am 14 years old. Rage and shame licked at his mind; something hard and cold and ineradicable arose from deep within him, demanding access to his mind.

They were standing before a wall mirror. They looked through their eyes at the haunted young face reflected in the glass. Hazel eyes, fringed by long lashes, shone overbright above the marks of bruising on the youthful face. He felt his fingers dip into a small jar of Synth-Skin. His hand rose, touched the bruising, and then began smoothing the beige cream over the purplish swelling. The marks began to disappear beneath the healing concealment; the bruises themselves would be gone when he washed it off.

He finished his task and stared back at his reflection. He was dressed in a short metallic-green tunic, torn at the shoulder, and tight leggings that shimmered in the room’s dim light.

The mirror revealed movement. The boy’s gaze darted to the reflected image of a much older man, approaching from behind.

Catching his breath, the boy straightened. They watched as the young mouth curved into a seductive smile. A hard light replaced vulnerability in the hazel eyes. The boy slowly turned, flaunting his body, already certain in his sexual power, and stepped over to meet the older man….

//Do not look further.// It was a command. His? Spock’s? Theirs? 

He moved back, his mind translating it into taking steps away, then went still. Something in him calmed, numbed now by repeated shock. //Spock?// Now it was a question he could not even form. The flame had been lit, the conflagration had raged, and now all had been burned away. 

//I am here.//

The mental voice seemed weary, resigned. Kirk moved toward it, then found himself once again against a featureless wall. He yearned against it, needing that other familiar presence, that other part of himself, needing to become whole.

//Let me in.// he said again, and now it was a plea. He visualized himself holding out one hand.

Seconds passed. An eternity passed. //Very well.// And something shifted, moved, opened.

He felt himself surging towards that passage. But the permission had been resigned, not welcoming. Fragments of images tumbled around him. Spock beneath him. Himself, ready to plunge to the hilt in that hot flesh. The word had been said. No. 

Some last trace of sanity brought him to a halt. //No. Not like this.// He seized on a mental image of hurling himself backward from the edge of an abyss. Lost again in the darkness, Kirk suddenly felt weightless, without anchor. He felt himself falling endlessly and panicked, shouted Spock’s name.

There was a wrenching dislocation. His eyes snapped open, but he could barely see. Spock’s face wavered above him in a dim orange-lit haze. He was back in his own body, but somehow not completely connected to it. He flailed and struggled against the sense of being trapped beneath the surface of a sea that distorted his vision, muffled his hearing, left his skin numb and his senses anesthetized.

He felt gentle hands lift him, place him flat on the yielding surface of a bed; felt a blanket brought up to cover him. Though his eyes were open and he could see in the dimness, and his ears were unimpeded and he could hear, everything remained oddly distant and flat.

Then he felt Spock’s hand on his face, now, finally, in the meld position. The contact lasted only a few seconds in duration, and then the hand was snatched away, as if it touched fire.

His vision cleared instantly. Sound came back to normal levels. He was truly in his body again. His chest heaved as if he’d just completed a 30K marathon.

He heard Spock whisper, “That should not have been possible.” 

Kirk, as exhausted as he had ever been, forced himself to keep his eyes open. He held out a hand to Spock. “Sleep with me.”

Spock was still staring at him in disbelief. “You should not have been able to do that.”

Kirk lost the battle against bone-weary exhaustion. His eyes slid closed. “We have to talk. But later.” He managed to slit his eyes open. “Please, Spock. Lie down next to me.” He kept his hand extended.

There was nothing but silence in the room. He felt oblivion washing over him. His hand, still unclaimed, dropped into the bedding.


	5. Chapter 5

* * * * *

 

He was instantly alert at the sound of his name. Disoriented, it took him a couple of seconds to realize he was still in Spock’s bed. Memory came crashing in when the first pains from his abused body penetrated his consciousness. He sat up suddenly, aware that he was still dressed in Spock’s robe, and looked around. 

The Vulcan was seated on the floor, his back against the wall, impeccably dressed in his uniform. Dark, intense eyes met his gaze, but the voice, when it spoke, was a monotone. “It will be time for shift in 45 minutes.” 

Kirk swung his legs to the floor. Spock’s expressionless face tracked his every movement.

“I—I…” he began, not sure what to say. His body was sending him a great many messages; he ignored them. Gathering courage, he forged on. “I… we need to talk about what happened.”

“If that is your wish.” Spock’s voice held no inflection; his eyes revealed nothing

“Tonight. After shift.”

Spock stirred slightly. “Affirmative.” He rose to his feet and stood in military stance before Kirk. “With your permission, I will spend today in Science Lab 7. I have some experiments in progress that require my monitoring.”

“Permission granted.” Kirk could hardly believe after what had happened that such formality felt almost… welcome. There was a distinct moment of comfort in their falling back into their captain/first officer roles. That he could understand. The rest, he needed time to figure out…

Kirk chose not to try to touch that granite-stiff figure as he passed on his way to the head. He had a lot of cleaning up to do, both literally and figuratively.

* * * * *

 

Kirk’s cabin door opened promptly at 1800 hours, and Spock, every inch the proper officer, the reserved Vulcan stepped inside. Kirk indicated a chair he’d placed on the opposite side of the desk. On the desk were two tall glasses of water. He knew by one brief glance that Spock recognized the significance: water represented many things on Vulcan: generosity, hospitality, truce, and peace.

“Please, sit.” Kirk motioned to the chair. Spock complied, but maintained a ramrod-straight posture. 

Today had been one of the longest shifts Kirk ever remembered serving. After he’d made use of a first aid kit to repair the damage Spock had caused, he’d gone to the bridge and sat out a singularly uneventful shift. During those long hours he had gone over and over what had happened, tried out a dozen opening lines, rehearsing what he was going to say the next time he was alone with Spock. His mind had persisted in replaying every second of Spock’s assault, every vivid image from the meld he had—somehow—forced on Spock. Did I rape you last night? Did you rape me? 

He wasn’t surprised to realize his anger over what had occurred had faded. The vivid images and emotions from the meld had burned away his anger as irrelevant and had strengthened his determination to work things out with Spock.

Somewhere there was a magic phrase to make things right.

But now, with Spock sitting before him in rigid military posture, it all came down to one single thought, one single all-powerful emotion.

“I love you.”

He picked up a glass and held it out. Kirk knew that to refuse the gesture would convey much: mistrust, the negation of peace.

Spock hesitated, then accepted it, but he did not drink.

“Sir, what I have done is illegal. Physical violence between mates is a crime among your people. By your laws I am guilty. I submit myself to whatever disciplinary action you choose to take.”

“All I require, Spock, is an explanation. But right now, I don’t want to discuss your actions. I want to discuss mine.”

Spock did the seemingly impossible: he became even more expressionless.

Kirk took a meditative sip of water. “When we were in the meld… is that what it’s like, to see and hear as you do?”

“I… compensate for human hearing and vision during melds. Unfortunately, I had no chance to prepare you this time. I apologize for any disorientation you experienced.”

“You didn’t prepare me, because you couldn’t. I forced the meld on you. I didn’t realize I could, but I did. How was it possible for me to enter your mind?” 

Spock swallowed convulsively. “You have a very dynamic mind.”

“What does that mean?”

“We are, as I told you, kav’ti’ja. I had, for reasons I have explained, chosen not to meld with you. You did not accept this decision. You chose to pursue the issue. The…” again Spock seemed to be searching for a word, “…energy of your personality is so powerful you were able to complete what had already been activated between us.”

“Activated how?”

Spock’s eyes showed deep pain for one instant, then went distant again. “By my actions. By that part within me which has claimed you as my mate. By my violence against you.” His fingers tightened around the water glass. 

Kirk, fearing it would break, reached out instinctively to touch his hand.

Spock flinched, snatched his hand away and pushed himself back into his chair. He clasped his hands together, and stared at the interlaced fingers, and the knuckles that were turning from pale to white. 

“Are we bonded, then?” 

Spock didn’t look up. “We are linked. If, by ‘bonded’, you mean the same link I shared with T’Pring, no, we are not. That is something that I, or a Healer, would have to initiate.”

“I had no right to treat you the way I did. If I had known that I could enter your mind,” Kirk paused, then added. “I would have pulled back, if I could. But at that moment—I wanted nothing more than to get through to you. I was afraid you’d shut me out—and that you’d never let me back in. And I was angry.” 

Spock flinched. “Yes, angry,” Kirk continued, “with you—and with myself. You had every right not to meld with me. That was your choice. I didn’t respect it. I didn’t respect it, because I was jealous. Of you and Qonyh.”

Spock looked up, his expression betraying his surprise. “You were jealous of Qonyh?”

“Yes. Jealous. She had something of you I didn’t have.”

“I had thought you were merely…sexually curious.”

“Curious, yes, I’ll admit to that, but it was a lot more. When I saw her place her hands on your head, when I saw the expression on your face—I was about to leap to my feet, and would have—if McCoy hadn’t stopped me.”

Spock’s façade cracked; he was now watching Kirk with open astonishment.

Good, Kirk thought. He’s listening. He’s heard about my jealousy—now let’s discuss the reasons for his rage. “Yesterday, I had sex with Mahdul—the ruler of K’teu.” Spock flinched. Kirk continued his explanation. “While I can’t change that, I wanted you to know why. It’s part of her race’s culture, one that Starfleet will be informed of at the earliest opportunity. Anyone visiting that planet, by choice or by accident, will have to know that sex and business are intermingled; that sex is a crucial part of completing negotiations. But cultural morals aside, I do admit that I wondered if you’d be annoyed with me. Honestly, I thought once I’d explained that situation, that you would find my actions ‘logical’. We rescued the scientists, after all.”

“‘Logical’,” Spock repeated. “Yes, it was logical for you to do as you did. I had no right to react as I did. I was not acting rationally. I disgraced myself.”

Spock looked as if he wanted to bury his face in his hands. He whispered bitterly, “I wanted to do this in the human way, and then I react as if we were Bonded. I experienced kriyah, a most distasteful emotion.”

The translator threw out a complex explanation: possessiveness / trespass / theft / pain / putting asunder by force. Kirk paused, absorbing the information. “Are you saying you were jealous?”

“That is a human emotion. I was n’kriyah.”

Kirk said gently, “That’s jealousy.”

“It cannot be the same.” Spock stared at him. “Humans do not mindlink. You cannot know this emotion. It is an emotion experienced by telepaths. I treated you as if we were already linked as bondmates, as if we had made between us that lifelong tie. I treated you as if you had betrayed me at pon farr.”

“Vulcan emotion, or human—with or without the mindlink—it’s the same thing. Jealousy.”

Spock shrugged in defeat. “I do not understand. Humans are, by nature, promiscuous. You seek many partners. I have rarely encountered any humans who desire only one relationship. Even when Humans marry, the contracts are often for specified periods of time.”

“Spock, you’ve mostly encountered horny Academy cadets and Starfleet personnel. No one who wants to settle down is likely to be in Starfleet.”

“All I know is I have failed, both as a Vulcan and a Human.”

“No. That isn’t logical, Spock. You’ve experienced both Human and Vulcan emotions, simultaneously. We are not so different, Humans and Vulcans. We need someone to love, to be there for us. We feel anger and jealousy if that relationship is threatened.”

Spock remained silent, so Kirk continued, choosing his words carefully. “There’s a lot we should have talked about before this. You’re well aware that what happened yesterday has happened before. Sex can be a tool for me. I’ve been a whore for Starfleet before—I’ve had sex in the line of duty. You know that, Spock. I can’t even promise I won’t do this again. And if the situation demands it, if a mission’s success depends on it, I doubt that I could turn away. It’s not something I seek out, but I am good at it—too good, perhaps.”

“I have observed that you excel in this area.” The comment could have been analytical, dry, but Kirk heard the bitter undertone.

He drew in a deep breath. He’d talked about this years ago, with counselors, and then put it from his mind. Apparently, he hadn’t pushed it back far enough. Spock had unerringly picked out that one crucial image during the meld, and it stretched out between them now like a vast field of toxic waste.

“I know I use sex to achieve goals. I learned how to do that on Tarsus. I learned, very quickly, what to do to live while everyone around me was dying.” He paused, and let the tide of remembered images fill his mind. “When the famine came, and Kodos separated out who was to live, and who was to die, he executed many of the children. There was certain...criteria in the children they spared. Kodos had certain tastes, shared by some of his lieutenants. They liked boys. I was 14. And I’ve always known I’m considered—`pretty’.” He heard the bitterness in his own voice as he bit out that word. “Those two factors saved my life.”

Spock’s eyes were intent on his face, the mask now entirely slipped away, revealing pain beneath, and anger.

“It’s long since over, Spock. I’ve resolved my feelings about what happened. I can’t pretend it didn’t change me, make me into someone different from who I might have been if I’d lived a sheltered life on Earth. I can’t say it made me ambitious to achieve; I always wanted to be in Starfleet, to be an explorer, to be in command. But it made me realize that sexuality is a useful tool. It’s easy for me to use sex to achieve my goals. It’s not so easy for me to be intimate with anyone. I have slept with many people. I’ve been in love. But I have never loved anyone as much as I do you. And I can’t let what happened between us yesterday ruin that. I forgive you for what you did. Can you forgive me?”

Spock stirred. “I did not understand your needs. There is much I do not understand.”

“We should have talked about this. It’s my fault we didn’t. I know what these feelings are like. You don’t. Once we started having sex, if I was thinking at all, I thought we would just go on as we always had—only better. I didn’t think I had to change anything else about my life. I should have given everything more thought.”

“I do not wish to change you. I have said this to you before. You are as you are, and if what I am changes your nature, then I am a threat to you.”

“Spock. Just by living, we change each other. Can you honestly say I haven’t changed you?”

He saw comprehension in Spock’s eyes, and pressed the advantage. “Spock, I need you. Before you, I don’t know if I even knew how to need anyone in my life. Having you here, beside me, with me, has broadened my life, strengthened me, made me even more of who I was already. I love you. Everything you are. If you were ever to leave me, you would take the best part of me with you.” 

Kirk took another sip of his water, and looked at Spock’s untouched water glass.

“Spock, say something.”

“We have not spoken of my actions. I hurt you. I am a danger to you.”

“A challenge, perhaps,” Kirk smiled softly, trying to defuse Spock’s anxiety, “but I’ll survive anything you can dish out. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“How can you say that when the evidence of my violence is on your body?”

“Spock…” Kirk said seriously, suddenly felt the need to pace. “I—we—have forgiven each other many times. In the line of duty I have struck you, insulted you, abused you. I hurt you where you could be hurt the most.” Freak, the Vulcan never lived with an ounce of integrity… The unspoken words hung in the air.

“That, as you said, was in the line of duty,” Spock replied. “What I did was not.”

“True, but my motivations weren’t always honorable. What I felt, at times, was personal and not professional; feelings of jealousy, envy, anger—emotions that I simply channeled into doing my job.”

“I do not understand.”

“I was jealous as hell of Leila. She was taking you from my ship, taking you from me. The spores didn’t permanently affect me because deep down I was furious—at everyone—but especially you. You were leaving me.” He stopped his pacing to stand directly in front of Spock. “I used those emotions in the only way I knew how to rescue my ship, and to ensure you remained by my side. It was necessary, but it was also selfish. And if I had to do it again, I would. Do you understand?”

Spock looked up, watching him carefully. “I was not bonded to Leila, only to…” Spock stopped, unable to make his lips form the name.

“T’Pring? Yes. But I knew you’d come back to me, even if the marriage had taken place. I could tell you didn’t have any feelings for her. But you did for Leila, and you would have remained with her if I hadn’t broken the influence of the spores. She was a threat to me. I’m embarrassed to admit that I found it easy to verbally attack you—because I was furious, furious with jealousy. When you said on the bridge that for the first time in your life you had been ‘happy,’ it almost killed me. I was filled with guilt. I purposely took that happiness from you. And yet you forgave me.”

Spock twisted his hands together, then got up abruptly and faced the grille.

“At least I thought you forgave me,” Kirk added.

Spock’s fingers latticed through the metal mesh, tightening through the openings. The dark head lowered until Spock’s forehead almost touched the latticework. “You know that I have.”

Kirk moved to stand next to Spock, close enough to feel the intense aura of heat that surrounded that thin body. He rested one hand upon a slumped shoulder. “I do not want what we have to end. I’d fight anyone to keep you.” He lowered his head, then whispered roughly into Spock’s ear, “I’d even fight you, to keep you.”

Spock turned within the circle of his arms. “I need to meditate on this.”

Kirk nodded. “Take all the time you need. One more thing. Sometimes my wolf is very close to the surface. You said you understood. Can you accept it that I understand your wolf as well?”

There was no answer in the pain reflected in Spock’s eyes. It was only after the door opened, then closed again, that he realized Spock had never touched the water.

* * * * *

 

There was a silence between them, after that. They no longer went to the gym. They no longer shared meals or chess games. Spock was perfectly correct on the bridge, as was he, but despite everything, when duty commanded it, they worked as well together as before.

Then circumstances intervened; they suffered radiation poisoning on their resupply mission to Gamma Hydra 4. Later, though he tried to blame it on the virus, Kirk knew he had found it far too easy to hurl angry words at Spock for his supposed betrayal. But in the end, hope remained, because he found also how simple it had been to resist Janet Wallace’s obvious attempts at seduction. In his heart, despite his frustration and resentment, he wanted no one but Spock.

Days turned into weeks, and with each one, the odds of them patching things up dwindled. The outcome did not look promising. But Spock had asked for time, and Kirk had given him that and more, willing to wait as long as it took. He had waited so long for Spock to come to him that when the Vulcan finally did, Kirk was filled with foreboding. 

Spock hovered at the doorway. “May I come in?”

“Certainly.” Kirk glanced at the chrono. It was 2300 hours, too late for routine ship’s business, and yet Spock projected a formality that was more appropriate on the bridge than for a social call.

The door slid shut behind Spock as he stepped into the room. In his hands, he carried a small ornate box.

“What have you got there?”

Spock indicated the desk. “May we sit down?”

Kirk took his seat, Spock taking the one opposite him. He opened the box, and removed, then set two small pale-green cups between them. Each was decorated with an abstract pattern that looked like waves. Spock unsealed a small jar and tipped clear liquid from it into each cup. “Altair water.”

Spock picked up a cup, took a tiny sip, set it back down again. Then he sat back in his chair, folded his hands in his lap, and waited.

Picking up the other cup, Kirk lifted it to his lips, aware of Spock’s intense interest as he tasted the mineral water. He set it back down on the desk.

Spock steepled his fingers. “I did not drink, when you offered me water before. That was a discourtesy. I owe you better than that.”

“Don’t apologize, Spock.” Kirk toyed with the miniature, finely-wrought cup. “Are these Vulcan?”

“Yes.”

Kirk nodded and patiently waited for Spock to continue, keeping a tight rein on his tongue lest he say anything that might end the conversation before it got started.

Spock contemplated his hands. “Do you still desire me?” he asked in a low voice.

“In every way.”

“I have given this much thought. I have analyzed this in every way I can.”

“And your conclusion?” Kirk inhaled a deep breath and didn’t release it. It stuck in his throat like a hard lump as he awaited the answer.

“What I feel is too large for me to comprehend. There is no intellect here. There is no logic here. I can choose to put my emotional response to you aside—and with it, disregard much of what I value in my life—or I can accept this emotion, and thus become a liability to you.”

Kirk got up from the desk. Spock matched his movement, and also stood. 

“You know I want you, that’s clear. But the real issue is—do you still want me—despite the problems, in face of all the difficulties we’ve talked about but haven’t resolved yet? Are they insurmountable or…can you find it within yourself to love me as I love you?”

“Love…” Spock’s lips repeated the word almost in a hushed whisper.

Then a look of determination entered the dark eyes, infusing them with a strange light. He spoke his next words in a tone so flat it took Kirk a moment to understand their import. “Yes, I love you as well.”

Kirk found he was grinning in astonishment. There was no matching smile on Spock’s face, but there was a sense of a lessening of tension on his face, his shoulders. “Thank you,” Kirk breathed in relief. “Thank you for being able to say that.” Then he added, “If, one day, that love helps you find your way back to my bed, you’ll find me waiting for you.”

Spock turned, and took a few steps toward the door, then without warning, he suddenly pivoted.

In the space of a heartbeat, his lips had captured Kirk’s mouth in a fervent kiss. His body and mind instantly responding, Kirk couldn’t do anything but clasp Spock to him as tightly as he could, welcoming the kiss with dizzy amazement. In union, they moved back until Kirk’s spine was pressed against the bulkhead. But the kiss didn’t last long. Spock broke contact and sank to his knees. His hands ran over the rock-hard bulge in Kirk’s pants, fingers deftly opening the trousers, pulling the loose material down over the hips. Within seconds, he had released the needful cock, and was gripping it tightly, stroking it, arousing Kirk to a fever pitch.

“Spock, you don’t have to…” he whispered in a strangled gasp, then words became meaningless as that incredibly skilled mouth drew him in. His hands tangled in the dark hair, fingers clutching, eyes riveted to where his cock disappeared into the mouth of his beloved. Kirk braced himself against the bulkhead, the metal cold against his naked ass, and felt Spock’s firm hands on his thighs, holding him in place. His cock greedily surged forward, swelling harder with each stroke from that hot tongue. Then he was swallowed, consumed, completely sheathed as Spock took him all the way in.

The heat, the pressure, the pleasure, the willingness of Spock to do this now, after all that had happened, were too much.

It was over in moments, and the sound of his own cry echoed in his ears as he came. He fell bonelessly against the wall, kept safe from falling by strong arms.

Finally, his head cleared and he found the strength to regain his feet without assistance. Slowly, he pulled his pants up and redid the clasp. He could feel his face beaming, and found that he couldn’t stop smiling. Spock was managing to stand with complete dignity before him, despite his slightly-swollen lips.

He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on those lips, but surprisingly, Spock withdrew a fraction of an inch from his caress. Kirk had an instant’s time to feel ice crush his heart, and then strong arms encircled him cautiously, tentatively, and Spock’s mouth met his in a chaste kiss. 

Kirk felt a moment’s grief at this new shyness, when Spock had never been uncertain of his needs before. A closed mouth brushed softly against his; he kissed against the closed lips, eyes open, watching Spock’s withdrawn face. 

Kirk felt something breaking in him, and stepped back. When his lover opened his eyes, Kirk extended his arms, and Spock moved back into his embrace. Kissing gently along the strong jawline, then along the complicated pattern of one pointed ear, Kirk waited for an answering response, but there was no passion on the angular face.

“Spock…” Kirk ran one hand over the front of Spock’s trousers, in search of the erection that wasn’t there. Spock looked away and Kirk read uncertainty in the slope of his shoulders, the bowed head. “My needs are already met, Jim.” It was a bare whisper.

The trousers were pristine. There was no evidence Spock had come. Fighting down a feeling of sadness, Kirk captured Spock’s hand with his own. “Sleep with me?” Spock inclined his head. 

Leading them to the bed, he quickly stripped off boots and clothing and climbed beneath the covers. Spock, as always, was meticulously folding his clothing, but he waited until Kirk had dimmed the light before slipping off his briefs and climbing into bed. That, too, was unusual; he might be methodical about undressing, but he’d never shown self-consciousness about being nude. Kirk threw a possessive arm over the narrow waist, skimming one hand over the other man’s penis for an instant to verify the lack of arousal.

Spock tensed at the fleeting touch, apprehension apparent in the rigid flex of his muscles, so Kirk moved his arm into a loose non-sexual embrace. Shifting next to him, Spock relaxed into sleep, but Kirk found that escape elusive. An unwelcome memory interfered with what should have been unalloyed happiness. Leila…I knew how to give her pleasure with my hands and my mouth. I had no need to experience sexual feeling…

Other words uttered by his Vulcan lover came back to haunt him. I’d hoped to be spared this.

Looking over at the sleeping man beside him, he wondered, What else do you hope to be spared? Pleasure? Have you chosen love at the expense of your sexuality?

* * * * *

 

Kirk realized he was still staring at Spock’s frozen image on the monitor. Reaching out to touch the smooth glass, his hand formed a fist and then withdrew. “Maybe you were the lucky one, Leila, because you didn’t need any more than he could give you.” 

He touched a button and Spock’s image vanished.

The rest of the datacubes demanded his attention. He forced his mind back to the task at hand, and listened to and commented on every report. Finally, his own report complete, he sat back in his chair, ready to consider what to do about Spock. 

The pattern of their interaction had been set by the second night. They were perfectly correct toward each other during the day. Their friendship, their camaraderie—everything they had had before was still there. They resumed their regular habits. In the evenings, they ate together, played chess, and enjoyed each other’s companionship. But by unspoken agreement, they no longer worked out together in the gym.

At night, the imbalance between them continued. Spock offered himself in every way Kirk could possibly desire, and he spoke the words that his human lover craved to hear. But Spock denied his own passion; it was repressed to the point of virtual impotence. It took a great amount of patience and work on Kirk’s part to get Spock to let go of his control enough to achieve orgasm. Most of the time, not only did Spock not come, but he consistently failed to either achieve or maintain an erection.

Kirk gave him time, silently willing Spock to work through this on his own, but the pattern continued. After a few unsatisfying encounters, he met Spock in his quarters one night, determined that Spock be well and truly satisfied before he took his own pleasure. Spock, clearly ready to repeat his recent performances, immediately offered oral sex, but Kirk quickly moved away, then began a seduction of his own.

Using everything he’d discovered to be effective on the Vulcan’s body, he lingered over every kiss, every touch, targeting the most sensitive parts with unbridled enthusiasm. When he ran his lips along Spock’s fingers, then licked between them, he was rewarded with a trembling shudder and a flash of need in the glittering eyes. But almost immediately, Spock repositioned himself face down upon the bed, and had offered himself to Kirk. It was an offer Kirk refused.

Instead, Kirk did all that he could to stimulate his lover, both manually and orally. Endless time went by without results, and finally, at Spock’s insistence, he entered the hot, willing body. He thrust slowly, stroking the semi-flaccid penis that lay in his hand, willing it to life. Unable to hold out indefinitely, Kirk gasped out his orgasm and shifting over, he collapsed upon the bed: satiated physically, but filled with frustration that despite his best efforts, he was the only one who had achieved satisfaction. 

Turning to lie on his back, he let out a weary sigh. “I know what you’re doing,” he said into the darkness. Adjusting the light until he could see the dark sleek head inches away from him on the pillow, he said bluntly, “You lied to me, Spock.” 

“I lied? Explain.”

“That other night—you told me your needs were met.”

“My needs were met. I wished to give you pleasure.”

“And what about my need to give you pleasure? I can’t enjoy this if you refuse to respond. How would you feel if you always climaxed, and I didn’t?”

Spock hesitated for a long moment, obviously seeking some kind of ‘logical’ excuse that he could use to defuse the thorny question.

“If you were unable to climax because of some impediment beyond your control, I would willingly accept that situation as long as you were satisfied in other ways.”

Kirk rested a hand on Spock’s naked shoulder. “Ah, but you are able to climax and have done so in the past. There is no impediment here, at least no physical disability. The fact is, you don’t want to come. And I hate it. I can’t continue to use you like some kind of sex doll, not when I know you are capable of experiencing full sexual pleasure.”

Something flared in the hooded eyes, but his answer was an evasion. “Then I do not please you.” 

“No, you don’t—not when you deny yourself.” Kirk withdrew his hand, sat up and leaned against the pillow. Mirroring his action, Spock pulled up the blankets for warmth.

“Jim…I cannot take the risk of hurting you.”

Kirk stared into the darkness. “We’ve been over this. All I want to know is, can we make this work or not?”

Spock pushed the covers back and shifted towards the edge of the bed. Kirk caught his arm before he was able to make his escape.

“You say you cannot take the risk of hurting me, and yet you are doing just that. This distance between us hurts me far more than any cuts or bruises. Why can’t you see that? Perhaps…deep down, you don’t really love me. Is that it? Have I mistaken your caring, your affection, your willingness to be with me, to have sex with me, for love?”

“You once told me I was better off without love.”

Kirk felt the words like a slap. His temper flared. “You know damn well I was under the influence of that virus when I said those words.”

“I should not have said that. I am not thinking clearly. It is best that I retire to my own cabin and meditate. I need to put my thoughts in order.”

“Thinking rationally isn’t what you need to do—you need to feel.”

“Feel? I felt enough, that night, and look at the results.” Spock easily twisted out of Kirk’s grip and went to grab his uniform. Leaping to his feet, Kirk placed himself between Spock and the door. 

“You’re certainly feeling something now.”

“Emotions are a trap.” A grimace twisted across Spock’s face and vanished again. 

“And excuses are a crutch. What are you so afraid of, Spock? Afraid of your own jealousy? Afraid of your own fear?”

“Jealousy. Fear. I know how to name these emotions. I know how to repress them. I do not know how to live with them.” Uncharacteristically, he paced around the room, as restless as Kirk was when he was chewing over a problem. “You are a danger to me, James Kirk, and I am a danger to you.”

“As long as I don’t screw around,” Kirk snapped, “where’s the danger?” His voice rose harshly. “If I promise to be a good boy, can we just put all this behind us?”

Spock spun on his heels, his eyes riveted to Kirk’s. “Sarcasm is hardly warranted in this situation. You mock what you cannot fully comprehend. During our meld, you saw how I wanted to murder—how I did murder T’Pring and Stonn, if only in my mind.” 

“So what? Everyone has revenge fantasies, but as long as they don’t act on them, what’s the problem?”

“Fantasies can become reality, when there is no control. In the plak tow—I realized—I wished to hurt T’Pring. It did not matter that I would feel it as well. Throughout the years, she was a constant irritant, and I knew I did not wish her as a part of my life. Nor did she wish me in her life. The link was a chain, which I bore, and she bore as well. We both could have served Tradition, and it would have made no difference. We would never have seen each other, except at the Time. I would not have returned to live on Vulcan. Not for her.” 

His gaze raked over Kirk. “She made sure I was aware of her—emotions—toward me. She disliked me intensely. Despite that, I thought she would do her duty. She was able to conceal her relationship with Stonn, as I was able to conceal my wish to rid myself of her.” Rage and pain flared in the hooded yes. “When she chose the kalifee, then chose you—she knew that your death would destroy me. I wanted to kill her. And Stonn. I wanted them both dead.” 

“But you didn’t kill her.”

“That is beside the point. That I coveted it at all is reprehensible.”

“I wanted to kill Kodos and those other men too. When I was a boy. I never got the opportunity. But if I had…” Kirk paused. “I don’t know what I would have done. I had enough hate in me, to do it. You might be standing next to a murderer now. Or I would be sitting in some penal colony somewhere.”

“Humans have the capacity to kill, but for a Vulcan, bred to peace, a Vulcan who cannot control—”

“But you can control these urges, that’s evident. Regardless of how much you hated them, how much you wanted to kill them, T’Pring and Stonn are alive. Your fears simply aren’t logical.”

“Need I remind you that I would have killed you during the kalifee if McCoy hadn’t intervened? T’Pring and Stonn are alive only because my link to her snapped the moment I thought I had taken your life. The blood-fever ceased to rage, the lethal frenzy instantly dissipated. If not for that, they both would lie entombed under the desert sand. I refuse to bury you one day, a victim of my inability to control myself.”

Abruptly turning away, Spock clasped his hands behind his back and remained quiet. Seconds ticked on and the silence began to thicken.

“Spock,” Kirk pleaded, “Please don’t throw away this relationship until we give it our best shot. Neither of us wants to live the rest of our lives with regret when the solution may be just around the corner. You’ve always told me, ‘there are always possibilities’. Was that also a lie?”

With a heavy sigh, Spock slowly turned around. His features had softened, and his shoulders slumped slightly, but his eyes still glittered with apprehension. “What would you have me do?”

“Love me. Desire me. The way I do you.”

“And if I cannot find that path within myself?”

“You have trusted me to lead you in other things. Let me be your guide.”

“There are clear and stated regulations for those ‘other things’. I can quote them all to you, as you well know.” 

Kirk smiled, but Spock’s tone darkened. “Perhaps there is no resolution to this. Perhaps I cannot be Vulcan or Human. Perhaps our needs cannot match.”

“I can’t believe that, Spock. I won’t believe it.”

Finally, a faint smile touched Spock’s lips. “You always assume that a solution to any dilemma can be found, even if one does not exist.”

“Well, in a few cases the solution may not be exactly the one I had aimed for, but my odds of success are pretty good.”

Spock raised a brow. “And if, in this case, the odds are against you?”

Kirk did not skirt the question, but answered honestly, even though he felt a spike of pain in admitting the truth. “I realize I’m not invincible. I can lose and I have lost. Many times. But none of those times has been as important to me as this.”

He walked up to Spock and gently reached out and ran his finger tenderly across the thin line of the Vulcan’s compressed lips. “I don’t want to lose you, not now, not ever.”

Bending forward, he kissed Spock softly, without passion. After a long moment, he felt strong arms slowly encircling him. They stood still, simply holding each other. “You have given me more than I ever thought to need,” Spock whispered into his ear. “Your love is more than sufficient for me. I am honored to serve your desire.”

Kirk pressed him closely, then let him go. “I’m grateful for what you could give; the friendship, the love. But you have to know, that has never stopped me from asking for more.”

“You would not be James Kirk if you did not ‘ask for more’.”

“Do you think you can at least try?”

“I will endeavor to do so.” It was a start, but Kirk saw the doubt in Spock’s eye, the clear conviction that the Vulcan did not think there was a workable solution.

Success breeds success, Kirk thought. A minor achievement, a small victory could be changed into a stunning triumph. What he needed was a plan, and when it came to an ingenious, unexpected, and thoroughly cunning strategy, Kirk had surprised the hell out of Spock more than once—and not just when playing chess. While the Vulcan might calculate the odds, Kirk beat them. Time and again.

There was no reason why he couldn’t do it once more.


	6. Chapter 6

* * * * *

 

Shift over, Kirk went into his cabin and checked his messages. The first one in the queue was from Spock.

He wasn’t expecting any reports from his First Officer, and it was with a sense of unease that he played the message.

The contents were entirely unexpected. He stared at the screen for a moment, then left Spock a message of his own. “Spock, when you have a minute, I’d like to go over your report.”

Contemplating the information on the screen, he ruefully realized that he was probably the only member of the crew who wasn’t filled with enthusiasm for their new destination. What was Spock planning now?

Since their discussion several nights ago, Spock had been trying to respond to him sexually. But fear and repression had continued to overshadow Spock’s physical responses, and Kirk was beginning to fear he was asking the impossible of Spock. 

Now this...Kirk frowned at the monitor. What could this possibly mean?

A moment later, and Spock came through the cabin door. Waving him to a seat, Kirk indicated the monitor. “You’ve researched the clubs I’ve previously visited on Wrigley’s; which ones are still open, and which ones have closed.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me why you think I need this information?” Kirk studied the Vulcan’s face carefully. There it was, the expression he was beginning to recognize. It told him that Spock was damn well going to do what he’d already determined was necessary; that he had already made a decision without consulting Kirk, and doubtless didn’t intend to tell him about it either. Not this time, Spock. Whatever it is you’ve planned, whatever you’ve decided to do—you’re not going to get away with it. 

“Shore leave on Wrigley’s will be brief. I assumed you might want to revisit places that you have enjoyed in the past.”

“Be honest with me.”

“I always give you accurate facts.”

“You’re prevaricating. I’m not asking about facts. I’m asking about motivation. How do you feel about my taking leave on Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet?”

“I do not feel anything about it at all.”

“You mean, you’re not permitting yourself to feel anything about it.”

“The result is the same.”

“Well, I’m not taking leave, so I don’t need this information.” He deleted Spock’s report; the monitor went blank.

“Jim, you have been quite vociferous in your desire for shore leave.”

“I was ‘quite vociferous’ in my desire for shore leave when I thought I was going with you. But I see on the report that you have declined leave and plan to remain aboard the ship, doing ‘personal research’.”

“I would not find a visit to Wrigley’s… beneficial,” Spock replied.

“And yet, you want me to go, alone. What benefit do you think I’ll get on Wrigley’s?”

Shifting uncomfortably, Spock kept his tone flat. “You have sexual needs that I cannot fulfill.”

“And you think a paid professional can fill those needs?”

“You have gone on Shore Leave in the past for ‘fun’. I know I cannot provide that.”

“Being with you is fun.” Kirk grinned.

“You are certainly the only being in the universe who would say so.” Spock made an admirable attempt at an affronted expression.

“Tell me the truth, Spock. Why do you want me to visit sex clubs?”

“I know you are dissatisfied with me. You were content with your life before. This is one of your accustomed activities. I do not wish to deprive you of it.”

“And jealousy, Spock?”

“I wish to completely eliminate that emotion from my mind.”

“Is this some sort of aversion therapy for you?”

Spock raised a brow. “I had not considered it in that light.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going.” Kirk shot Spock a sly glance. “Well, I’ll consider it—on one condition.”

He could see Spock repress a sigh. “And that condition is?”

“That you go with me.”

Both eyebrows shot up. “And you anticipate having ‘fun’ with me?”

“Yes, and you know—I’m beginning to look forward to this.”

“You would enjoy the company of Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott —”

“They’ll find plenty to keep them busy. And so will we.”

Spock was looking faintly alarmed, and Kirk felt an adrenaline surge. Well, Spock? How will you play this? How are the odds looking to you now?

Carefully watching the barely-visible display of thoughts and emotions on the seemingly expressionless face, he knew the exact moment Spock reached a decision. 

“Very well. I will accompany you.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Spock. I know we’ll have a good time.” I’ll bet you just reworked your plan to accommodate this new data. Well, you called my bluff, Spock. Let’s see how I can play this hand.

* * * * *

 

“So, is this the first time you’ve been to Wrigley’s?” Kirk had to raise his voice above the cacophony of street sound—clashing styles of music, the noise of a variety of vehicles, floating holo-advertisements, and an endless babble of the voices of dozens of different species.

“Affirmative.”

“I would have thought your natural curiosity would have brought you here—in the spirit of scientific investigation, of course.”

Spock raised a brow. Colors from flashing lights splashed, shifted, transformed across his face, highlighting the angular bone structure, the shadows around his eyes. “I had many opportunities to listen to those of the crew who had occasion to visit this and similar places. It was clear to me that I would not be allowed to visit simply as an observer, but that my participation would be required.”

“Well...” Kirk gave him a lewd smile. “There are those who do like to just watch.”

The tiniest of smiles touched the alien lips. “Indeed, but perhaps they would not appreciate my taking readings along with my personal observations.”

Kirk laughed at the image, picturing Spock seriously consulting his tricorder in the midst of some wild orgy. What were you like at the Academy? So very young. Beautiful. Untouchable. Incapable of pleasure. A child. 

Stopping in front of the next establishment, he contemplated the holographic array of sex toys displayed on the shop’s facade.

“‘Ye Olde Sex Emporium’.” Spock managed the precise inflection he used when reporting the scientific name of some newly-described species.

“Someone’s got a sense of humor. Let’s go in here. It’s attached to my favorite club.”

The uproar of the street was replaced by the sensory assault of the shop. Floating holos flashed out brief sequences of close-ups of the genitalia of a dozen species. The room was filled with booths and displays containing every manner of erotic aid, toy, garment, and virtual-reality apparatus possible.

Pausing before one floor-to-ceiling antigrav display, Spock contemplated a bewildering array of erotic lotions and lubricants. There were dozens, if not hundreds, to choose from, and those were just the ones rated for humans. “There seems to be a redundancy of goods here, as all of these items are used for the same purpose.”

“Humans like variety,” Kirk said.

“I have noted that,” Spock replied dryly.

A subtle tone and lighting shift filled the shop for a brief moment, then the normal chaos resumed.

“The next show’s beginning.” Kirk indicated the further door. “Shall we?”

Spock continued perusing the various wares on their way through the shop, and Kirk reflected that he did look as though he was taking notes for a planetary survey. If I thought you’d be embarrassed by this blatant sexuality, I was dead wrong. He wasn’t surprised at Spock’s lack of embarrassment—nor was he surprised at the lack of any evidence of arousal. Surrounded by every conceivable sexual image and aid, all Spock seemed to desire was a tricorder. 

Kirk paid the entrance fee and added a large tip, which earned them a prime table right in front of the action. This was a live show, not a holo, and a shimmering stage, seemingly composed of blue vapor, hung at an advantageous position in the air. It contained a complex twist of writhing bodies, some Human, some Andorian, engaged in an orgy.

Ignoring the complimentary, blue-tinted drink he was offered by a barely-clad waiter, Spock observed the proceedings with an occasional raised brow. Once, he actually leaned forward to stare in perplexity at the complicated arrangements of the various bodies on the stage. “It is quite interesting to observe what is actually possible.”

Kirk laughed. He only occasionally glanced at the action on the stage; his primary attention was focused on the man next to him. What would Spock do if he ran his hand up his thigh? Smiling at the thought, he kept his hands to himself. Sipping his drink, he made comments on Spock’s observations, and wondered where this would lead them. Certainly not to the Vulcan’s apparent objective—to get Kirk safely laid by anyone other than Spock. Neither of them truly wanted that. Kirk contemplated his next move.

“That is not accurate,” Spock observed, partway through the next act. A spotlight focused on a huge-dicked Regulan who was servicing a butterfly-winged woman from Alemus. Her powerful wings kept her hovering in the air; strong purple hands secured her waist, while the amethyst-colored cock pumped inside her. “That is not a Regulan. Their genitalia includes a very interesting hood over the testicles—”

Kirk stared at him in amazement. “Just where did you get that bit of information.”

“I was stationed on Regula VI on a scientific survey 9.5 years ago. Some Regulans have the habit of going about nude; observations were thus easy to make.”

Kirk chuckled. “I expect that if I were to ask you about the sexual habits of any known species, you would have complete information.”

“I endeavor to keep fully informed.” Spock raised one brow a fraction of an inch, and an expression settled around his mouth that meant he was sharing Kirk’s joke.

The Regulan and the Alemusian were replaced by five men costumed to look like Klingons. They formed a daisy chain and began humping in rhythm to blaring martial music. He was startled by the brief touch of a hand on his shoulder.

Spock nodded toward the bar. “That woman has been observing you for the past 1.5 minutes.”

Looking in the indicated direction, Kirk noticed a blonde human female languidly sipping a sparkling blue drink. Her smoky gaze was riveted on his face. Sparkling strips of multi-colored material did little to conceal her ample breasts and curvaceous hips and revealed flashes of pale skin. Small holochips gleamed and glinted everywhere on the fabric; Kirk had seen these earlier, knew each contained a moving, erotic image.

An elaborate confection of blonde curls surrounded a carefully made-up face. He loved disordering those complex hairdos, loved the disarray of a woman’s hair on a pillow. This one was everything he always liked in a woman; Spock knew him well. Responding to his gaze, she shifted position to better display her breasts. His hands already knew how they’d feel, their weight and texture and shape, the feel of her nipples pressing against his thumbs.

She touched her tongue to her upper lip, her gaze fixed on his face. Emphasizing the sway of her walk, she stepped away from the bar, heading in their direction.

He felt rather than saw the movement beside him and he seized Spock’s hand in a hard, hurting grip. Spock froze, his chair already halfway back from the table; he had obviously been preparing to leave. Kirk didn’t look at him, but clenched his fingers even more closely around Spock’s larger hand. He knew his Vulcan companion could break free without effort. He hoped that he wouldn’t try.

Keeping eye contact with the woman, he shook his head. Her professional smile didn’t waver, but she instantly altered her course, veering off to one side as if he had never been her goal.

He turned his gaze to Spock, who was watching him closely. Kirk’s voice was gentle; his grip unrelenting. “Do you really want me to fuck her, Spock?”

Spock’s hand jerked in his grip; Kirk held on with all his strength. The hooded eyes were suddenly masked; he turned away.

“Spock…” He willed that reluctant gaze to turn back toward him. “Do you—really—want me to fuck her?”

A hard light glittered in the narrowed eyes. The angular face was cold and closed, but Kirk could feel the energy around him, practically crackling the air with its power. Spock leaned forward, his hand tense in Kirk’s grip. “No. I do not.”

“Do you really want me to fuck anyone else? Ever.”

“No.” His gaze was ice. “I do not.”

“Matter settled, then.” Punching in a credit code at the table monitor, Kirk settled their account, then got to his feet. “C’mon, Spock, let’s get out of here.”

Spock seemed slightly unsteady as they left, but he collected himself, and by the time they walked back through the emporium he had the facade of interested scientist back in place. He commented on various displays, lingering in feigned-misunderstanding of the rude double-entendres emblazoned on a variety of jockstraps, then indicated an eye-level arrangement of fantastically shaped and colored dildos displayed at eye level.

“This one,” Spock indicated a large purple dildo with a flared hood concealing the balls, “is an anatomically correct representation of a Regulan’s genitalia.”

Ignoring the display, Kirk examined the angry green impressions he had left on Spock’s wrist and hand. Spock didn’t try to withdraw from his touch. They stood still as the sound and motion of the sex shop advanced and retreated around them like a tide.

Lacing their fingers together, he let their entwined hands drop. Leading the way, he headed toward the door.

At the next display, Kirk stopped suddenly, frozen into place. An idea had occurred to him. An idea, and a possible answer.

“Spock.”

“Yes?” 

“Do you trust me, Spock?”

“With all that I am.”

Kirk could have laughed at the incongruity of those solemn, intense words, spoken here in the middle of this garishly-decorated sex shop. Instead, he felt he could melt, right there, and be reformed entirely, just by Spock’s love.

“I want you to want me as much as I want you.” His voice was pitched low, intense, not for any ears but their own. Spock met it with his own words. “I do.”

“It’s not enough, Spock. I need you to act on that desire.” He kept Spock’s hand tightly captured in his own.

Spock looked around, away, for escape, vision focusing on the door. “I cannot, and you know why,” he gritted out.

“Then perhaps here’s an answer.

Spock dragged his gaze back to Kirk’s face. Clearly, he wished he were anywhere but where he was. “What answer?”

Kirk indicated a holocase in front of him, which held a complex assortment of restraints.

Spock shifted his gaze to the case in some bewilderment. “I clearly need to further my research on human sexuality.”

“Some people like to be tied up while they’re having sex.”

Both eyebrows ascended to Spock’s bangs. “Indeed. What is the motivation?”

“It’s about control.” Kirk’s voice slowed over the final word. “This,” he indicated a pair of manacles, “would make it possible for you to take me without hurting me.” He was hard already at the thought.

An intense, curious gaze regarded his face. “You cannot be serious —”

“—Just listen…” Making it up on the spot, he whispered his ideas beneath the pulsing music. During the entire pitch, Spock’s gaze didn’t waver. But when Kirk finished, Spock turned and walked away. As both hope and his erection deflated, Kirk swallowed his disappointment.

He was about to move towards the door when he heard the Vulcan’s voice. “Excuse me,” Spock said; the words were not directed at him, but at the clerk who hovered behind the counter near the far wall. “I would like to purchase a pair of restraints. I assume you have some discreet packaging available?”

* * * * *

 

The silence between them throbbed with anticipation. Their purchases packaged securely, they beamed back to the ship. The corridors were quiet. Those who weren’t on active duty, or slated for the next shift, were down on Wrigley’s, scattered among the pleasure palaces and gambling houses. Some, perhaps, were even partaking of the few tamer pleasures available there.

Kirk was very aware of Spock by his shoulder. He glanced at the uncommunicative profile of his first officer. Would the restraints solve anything? Or would they turn out to be a mistake that would widen the gulf between them? His cock wanted to do all the thinking for him, and his burgeoning erection was all in favor of the current plan.

Once inside his quarters, Kirk led the way to his bed. Spock stood beside it, unmoving, regarding him intently. Kirk opened the package, and drew out a pair of manacles. The store had provided a selection adaptable to a variety of scenarios. He had chosen the ones with the magnetic lock that could be attached to the ship’s walls.

He fingered the inside of the manacles, stroking the soft, giving lining, and watched Spock. Spock transferred his gaze from the manacles back to Kirk’s face.

“Do you really want this?” Kirk asked, his eyes demanding honesty.

“You asked me if I trusted you. I do.”

“If at any point you decide you don’t want to do anything I ask of you, just say so.” 

“Agreed.” Spock’s eyes continued their careful scrutiny of Kirk—his face, his body. 

Kirk felt tension grip his body, and deliberately forced himself to relax. “Take off your clothes—no, don’t fold them, just drop them on the floor.”

Spock hesitated for a brief moment, then complied with Kirk’s second command, opening his hands to let his shirts drop to the floor. His boots, trousers and briefs followed, creating an untidy heap. Kirk saw Spock look down at the tangled mess with a hint of disapproval. Obviously, old habits were difficult to break, Kirk realized with trepidation. Not the actions necessarily, behavior could be changed, but the deep-rooted feelings those actions produced were almost impossible to eradicate. He could only hope that not all of them were permanently ingrained, especially since he was determined to dispose of at least one of those habits with the activities he had planned for tonight. He gripped the manacles tighter; they would either be the salvation or the demise of his relationship with Spock. It was a risk he had to take.

“Now, lie on your back on the bed.”

Spock reclined on the bed, hands by his sides.

Kirk busied himself a moment with the manacles. Taking the chain from one, he pressed it to the wall, and thumbed the button to activate the magnetic lock. He did the same with the other, then faced Spock.

“Give me your right hand.”

Spock complied. Kirk took it in his own; he felt the strength in the deceptively lean fingers, acutely familiar with the power of that hand. He’d seen Spock crush metal with those hands. He’d felt their strength upon his own body. That strength was now given to him willingly. His cock strained forward at the thought.

He pulled the arm up to the side of Spock’s head, and snapped the manacle shut around the wrist. It could be unlocked by his thumbprint, or by a tone from the remote. Its fail-safe was automatically programmed to unlock after an hour’s time.

Spock already had his other arm in position when Kirk reached for the second manacle.

He wouldn’t have believed the surge of lust that came over him at the sight of Spock stretched out naked on his bed with his wrists encased in metal, chained securely to the walls of his ship. Years ago, Kirk had experimented with bondage, switching from Sub to Dom, and although he’d had fun, it was not something he fantasized about doing regularly. But at the sight of Spock in submission to him, he reconsidered. Maybe all it took was the right partner. 

Spock’s eyes were intently focused on his face, and he felt a wave of tenderness, of love. This is all so very new to you. All of it. You were a virgin just a few months ago. I don’t care how many guys you sucked off at the Academy—technical experience means nothing if you can’t feel it in your flesh. What would Spock know of his own needs? He’d followed Kirk’s lead in everything, even now. Especially now. Terran or Vulcan, it doesn’t matter. You wanted to do this in the human way, not the Vulcan, but surely the answer lies somewhere in between.

Spock turned his head to one side to survey the metal encasing one wrist. He gave an experimental tug, then a harder one. Then he pulled, with both arms, clearly with all his strength.

Relaxing again, he lifted one brow, and gave a tiny smile. “This might prove to be workable, Jim.”

Kirk found himself grinning. “Remember, if you want out of those, just tell me.”

Spock nodded, dark eyes regarding him closely. “Understood.”

“I love you. I want you to love me as much as I love you.”

“I do.”

“Then prove it.” 

Kirk took off his own clothing, making a deliberate display of the removal of each garment. Spock observed every movement, while Kirk’s cock hardened as if Spock’s gaze were a caress. He joined Spock on the bed and moved to straddle him, then lowered himself until he hovered a bare fraction of an inch above Spock’s fever-hot skin. Resting his weight on his hands and knees, his face directly above Spock’s, he looked for a long moment into those ebony eyes before dipping his head to gently kiss the waiting lips.

He felt a tiny shudder ripple along the pliant skin and, encouraged, continued his seduction of Spock’s mouth. The lips beneath his parted, and Spock was kissing Kirk back, a gentle yet determined kiss.

Kirk’s body was way ahead of them and he groaned as his cock jutted toward Spock. Unable to resist, he settled against the lean frame, skin to skin. Kirk dragged his erect cock against Spock’s half-hard genitals, then moved upward, rubbing against whatever hot skin he found.

After giving thorough attention to Spock’s mouth, he shifted to kiss the angular cheekbones, then ran his tongue up to caress an exquisite ear. Spock’s cock jerked beneath him.

Kirk pulled back, studying the solemn face, devoid of expression.

“Here and now…will you do anything for me, Spock?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

“Then give up your control. You don’t need it. I don’t want it.”

Spock’s eyes squeezed shut. “It will be difficult, but I will attempt to do so.”

“Will you feel for me?”

“I will try,” Spock replied softly, his eyes still closed. 

“Look at me.” The pale blue eyelids opened, revealing trepidation.

“Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to use your imagination.” He smiled at Spock’s look of surprise.

“I do not believe I possess that attribute.”

Kirk couldn’t resist kissing the logical mouth. “Genius is usually imaginative. And you are a genius. Shall we test as to whether you possess that attribute?” He rubbed sensuously against Spock’s naked form, enjoying the crisp feeling of Spock’s body hair against his own bare skin.

“I admit to curiosity as to how you will administer this test.”

Kirk lifted up, then pressed both his hands against Spock’s shoulders, pushing him into the bed. “Hold still,” he said. “Don’t move.” What would Spock like? Would he like this? Does he want to be dominated? The reverse? Or some tightrope dance in between? He lowered his weight upon Spock, this time not attempting to support any of his weight himself, allowing himself to lie completely upon the other man. Their only motion was the rhythm of their breath.

“Feel my weight on you,” he whispered into Spock’s ear. “Feel how it holds you down. Now, imagine you go to your cabin one night, and I am there. You have tied me to your bed. You can do anything with me you want. Nothing is forbidden. I have said yes.”

He didn’t mistake the sudden intake of breath, the palpable ripple of heat along Spock’s skin, the sudden twitch of Spock’s genitals, trapped against his body.

Kirk pulled up slightly, their skin parting to let the thinnest blanket of air separate them. “I have said yes,” he repeated. “And you want me. You want me as much as you ever have.”

There was no mistaking the hardness growing between them now. He paused to place delicate kisses all over Spock’s face, then suddenly claimed and devoured the willing mouth, now fervent with growing need. Spock pressed his body up against Kirk’s, and the feel of Spock’s erection impelled Kirk to rub and thrust against the answering hardness. “You’re going to fuck me,” Kirk whispered. “As hard as you want to. As long as you want to. I want it, too. I am yours, Spock.”

Spock groaned, a low, broken sound, and Kirk could feel the Vulcan cock swell further, pushing against his belly. He pulled back abruptly, parting their bodies, and Spock moaned in disappointment and looked at him with fevered eyes.

Kirk lay next to that lean body, and ran a fingertip along the contours of Spock’s ear, down his throat, then skimmed his hand slowly over shoulder, pec, side, and hipbone. A shiver traced itself along the path of his fingers. He was intently aware of the dark gaze following every motion of his hand. He touched the verdant cock lightly, wrapping his fingers around the hardening length. He held it carefully, without movement.

“You’re going to fuck me,” Kirk repeated. “And I want it. I want you inside me.” He could feel a tremor in the other man’s taut muscles. Spock’s penis swelled in his hand. He loosened his fingers, trailed them up the length of the shaft, and used one fingertip to circle the head. Spock drew in a quick breath, and Kirk bent his head, licked the place where his fingers had been, and pulled away.

He ran his hand back up to Spock’s nipples, leaned over to tongue one gently, then suddenly bit sharply against the hardened bud, tugging it upward with his teeth. Spock cried out, and snapped his hips up, and Kirk saw with satisfaction that the Vulcan was now fully erect.

It was hard to ignore the aching weight of his own erection. Reaching over one of Spock’s bound arms, he opened a small compartment in the headboard and retrieved the lube. Noting that Spock’s hands were clasped around the chains, Kirk dropped to his knees and took one of Spock’s hands, separating it from the metal links. He opened his mouth and sucked in two fingers.

Spock gasped and jerked against the chains, and his erection hardened and lengthened yet more, tight now and curved toward his belly. Kirk ran his tongue along Spock’s fingers, watching as the Vulcan snapped his hips helplessly in the air and moved restlessly in the chains. Spock had closed his eyes, but his lips were parted, and Kirk could clearly hear the rapid pace of his breathing.

Aching for friction, for fulfillment, his own cock felt like a bar of iron. He pulled Spock’s hand away from his mouth, and settled the grasping fingers back around the chain.

“Watch me.” Spock’s eyes flickered open and he watched as Kirk covered his cock with lube. Squeezing a large dollop on two of his fingers, Kirk held them out for inspection. “Remember. Imagine. I’m tied to your bed, waiting for you. You’re going to shove your cock inside me. You’re going to fuck me, harder than you ever have before.” He moved back on the bed, between the rigid legs. “Pull your legs back,” he ordered, and Spock quickly complied. 

Working his lubed fingers into the tight opening, Kirk penetrated past the ring of muscle, the satin-slick walls within closing around his probing strokes. He frictioned his fingers, and Spock cried out as Kirk found that one perfect place inside his body. Kirk heard the rattle of chains pulled tight, released, pulled again.

“Watch me, Spock. Imagine. You’re going to fuck me.” He withdrew his fingers and positioned his cock, the head blunt against Spock’s anus. “Put your legs on my shoulders. Now imagine you’re ready to fuck me. Just like this. Keep watching me.” He pushed forward and the slick head of his cock entered Spock easily. He looked up at Spock’s face, confirming that the Vulcan’s gaze was riveted to the place where their bodies met. He could see moisture at the tip of the dark green cock. The sight enflamed him. With one thrust he sank all the way in. Spock’s cry brought him out and pulled him back to thrust again.

Kirk stilled for a moment, his nerves screaming, the weight of Spock’s legs on his shoulders dictating the ways he could move. He managed to make a partial fist of his hand and wrapped it around Spock’s erection. Spock thrashed against the bed as Kirk stroked the hot flesh, root to tip, just once, ending with a delicate circular caress on the now-wet dark green head.

Spock’s gasp of pleasure and frustration arrowed desire through Kirk’s entire being. He thrust again, again, lost to words, drunk with pleasure, aware that Spock had followed his order, keeping his eyes slitted open, watching as Kirk’s cock penetrated his body over and over.

It was too much—Kirk could feel his balls contract, their tension near to the screaming point. He plunged into his lover’s body as deeply as he could go and heard his own cry of passion as he climaxed. Though half-dizzy with waves of pleasure, he was lucid enough to perceive the look of desperation on Spock’s face and to see how the Vulcan cock had flushed a dark forest shade that was beautiful in its painful need. 

Shaking, he gently pushed Spock’s legs down, shoved over and collapsed by his side. He managed to reach out one finger to teasingly trace the length of Spock’s rock-hard erection. “Jim,” Spock gasped, not trying to control his voice, not trying to hide the fact the word was a plea. 

“Is there something you want?”

“Yes!”

“Then say it.”

“I… I want to…” Spock hesitated, then in a voice clear and strong, he repeated Kirk’s words. “I want to shove my cock inside you and fuck you, harder than you have ever been fucked before.”

Spock’s words jolted through Kirk like a high-voltage shock, electrifying the air around them. Kirk’s heart pounded. Scrambling to his knees, he grabbed the lube, filled his palm with cream, and reached for Spock. He grasped the burning green cock, savoring Spock’s gasps of pleasure as he quickly slicked the lube on and let go, not wanting Spock to come from the touch of his hand. The dark eyes were filled with frantic need, and Kirk felt revitalized, almost invincible. This was going to work.

Hastily, with unbridled anticipation, he reached between his own legs to apply lube to his anus, then tossed the tube aside. Spock gritted his teeth as Kirk straddled his needful cock.

“Watch me, Spock. Let go…” Kirk breathed, guiding the rampant flesh to the opening of his body, “…of your…” He pushed down suddenly, impaling himself. “…control, Spock!” He hissed; Spock’s hips jerked upward even as Kirk pushed down and Kirk was filled with the hardness he’d longed to experience again.

Using the strength of his thighs, he levered up and down, taking the enormous girth deep inside him, pulling away, then slamming back down all the way to Spock’s balls. Spock met his motions with equally strong thrusts. He did not hold back; he was no longer afraid of letting go.

“That’s it! Release your control in me,” Kirk groaned, feeling sweat drip from his face. He reached to pinch Spock’s nipples, hard, and Spock’s rhythm increased. Kirk rode it out, trying to match the increasingly frantic motion, feeling himself filled by every shove, every vigorous unrestrained thrust. He saw Spock’s face alive with ecstasy; he drank in the sight. 

A deep, gasped sob of pleasure filled his ears. Spock’s entire body tensed, and then Kirk felt himself flooded. 

Beneath him, Spock’s body collapsed completely back against the bed. Spock’s mouth hung half-open in silent astonishment, his face lax, his eyes dreamy and tranquil. Kirk had never seen such complete abandonment in another being’s face. On Spock’s face it was that much more astounding.

Gingerly, Kirk moved to lie on his side beside him. Filled with overwhelming joy, he stroked the slanted eyebrows and caressed the angled cheekbones and the soft lips, helpless before the power of his love. Spock had managed to open his eyes and was watching him with purest contentment, his gaze revealing the glow of answering love.

Kirk found wipes from his cabinet and cleaned them both, tossing the damp cloths into the disposal. One more task, then he could sleep in his lover’s arms. He used his thumbprint to release one of the manacles. Spock’s hand lay willingly passive in his, and he eased it down to Spock’s side. He gently massaged Spock’s arm and hand for a moment, then repeated the procedure with the other hand. Finally, he gathered up the bedcovers and carefully covered them both, turning onto his side so he could throw a possessive arm around the lean waist. Spock shifted closer to him, and said in a hushed voice, “I love you, Jim.”

“I love you, Spock.” He closed his eyes, and felt Spock thread their fingers together. He squeezed tightly, and slipped into sleep.

* * * * *

 

They spent the next day simply enjoying each other’s company. After breakfast, they made love again, a slow, gentle exploration with hands and mouths, then ventured out to walk the nearly-empty corridors of the ship. Kirk knew where he was headed, and Spock quickly guessed as well. They stopped in front of the gym. 

They hadn’t been here since before since the mission to Anton’s World. Spock automatically paused to allow Kirk to precede him. Kirk caught his gaze. “After you,” he said.

They changed into athletic clothing, then quickly swung into one of their routines. They did not start with their habitual ease; there were hesitations of arms and legs; there was awkwardness at first between them. But after a few tense moments, they fell into their old pattern, and suddenly it was there again—the grace, the confidence, the knowing of each other on such a soul-deep pattern that every move was known, predicted and matched immediately.

They brought their dinner onto the Observation Deck where they talked of ship’s business, and let their eyes speak of other things.

By afternoon, they were back in Kirk’s quarters. Kirk thoughtfully took out the manacles from where he had stowed them in a cabinet. He fingered the metal, held the cuffs up to Spock. The chains swung down, rocked back and forth, then came to rest. 

The Vulcan did not take them, but locked eyes with Kirk. 

“I sometimes feel that you’ve always been with me.” Kirk felt the dark gaze like heat upon his face. “When I look over my shoulder, you are always there. When I think of who I want to spend time with—you’re already there, waiting for me. We are already bound together, you and I.” He offered Spock the manacles. One large hand closed over the cuffs, accepted them, then lowered itself, chains bumping against the floor.

“Do you want me, Spock? You can have me—in any way you desire.”

“An interesting attribute, imagination.” Spock’s eyes glowed. He opened his hand, and the chains fell to the floor. He moved against Kirk and pressed their mouths together. He used his height to force Kirk back, one hand pressed against the small of Kirk’s back. Then he encircled Kirk’s waist with one arm; he shifted, and Kirk felt himself lifted free of the floor and carried to the bed, where he was gently deposited. He stretched his arms above his head, exactly as Spock’s had been the night before, and gave him his best lewd and loving smile, moving his body sensuously against the sheet.

Staring at Spock’s massive erection, Kirk responded with one of his own. The Vulcan face was unguarded, unshielded; what Kirk saw there was need, love, and awed joy. 

“Take what you need.” Kirk grabbed the lube from the cabinet and tossed it to Spock, who applied it swiftly, both to himself and to Kirk. Then he moved Kirk effortlessly, flipping him onto his stomach. He bent over Kirk’s back, his cock stabbing at Kirk’s balls, and then reached one hand between their bodies to explore and match their organs. He thrust, slick flesh against flesh. Kirk groaned, inflamed, desperate to have Spock inside him. 

Spock pulled back, and Kirk felt the first pressure of the tip of that massive cock, ready to breach him. Gasping with need he pushed back exactly as his beloved pushed forward, and then Spock was inside him, thrusting deeply. Every time his lover pushed against his prostate breathless bright pleasure sparked in his mind, surged in his cock, tearing his flesh with the keen edge of desire that heightened with each breath, each touch, each thrust.

He grabbed his own cock, pulling and squeezing in desperate time. One of Spock’s hands moved, from where it had been supporting his weight, to trail a path of fire along Kirk’s arm, shoulder, throat, face. And there the hand stopped, exactly in the meld position.

“Do you still wish to meld with me?” Spock whispered.

Kirk stilled, feeling the force of his own desire, accepting it, giving it to Spock as the only gift he now possessed. “Yes, Spock. I want it —if you want it. Yes, to everything.”

Spock’s hand caressed his face. Something clicked tight, and then they were together, one being, two bodies, meshing and becoming whole. He had an image of their hands moving to clasp each other, coming to rest, locked together.

Sensation returned full force; he could feel his balls gather and tighten in anticipation, feel Spock’s thrusts become more powerful, more erratic. Spock’s teeth found the back of his neck and bit down. The sharp pain and the hot flood Spock released inside him triggered his own climax, and he felt himself falling, caught, held and possessed—and released. He was suddenly separate again, alone in his body and mind.

He slept, for just a moment, lost in the haze of afterglow, then managed to open his eyes. He was still on his belly with his head turned to his left. Spock, lying on his side next to him, was regarding him with wonder.

“Thank you for the meld, Spock. For everything.”

“I had no right to deny your desire, when you did not deny mine.” He reached out to caress Kirk’s face—temples, cheekbone, jaw, then rested his hand against Kirk’s skin.

“It was not a true meld—it was only for brief seconds. More of a touch.”

“Touching and touched…?”

Spock smiled. “Not even that. Not yet. But yes, if you wish it.”

“Do you wish it, Spock?”

Brightness flared in Spock’s eyes. “Yes. I do wish it.”

“When?”

“Now.”

From where Kirk lay, he could see the manacles, lying discarded on the floor. “I didn’t buy the other kind—but I wish I had them now.”

“Which ‘other kind’?”

“The kind with a cuff at each end. But you can see the image in my mind. Can’t you?” He gave Spock a wicked, inviting grin.

Spock actually laughed. A tiny sound—quickly hidden. Kirk grabbed him and brought their mouths together; Spock rolled him over and pinned him with his body. “Can’t you?” Kirk said again, and sighed as Spock’s hand found the correct position.

The world vanished. Instead, Kirk saw the same featureless wall he had seen once before, its vastness forbidding him access to Spock’s mind.

The wall now contained a locked door. In his hand was an old-fashioned keyring. He unerringly chose the correct key. 

The lock opened to his touch, and the door, no longer barred to him, opened, revealing the welcoming passage beyond. 

He walked through.

Spock met him there in a bright world newly created by the two of them. Kirk regarded him with wonder. He could feel Spock reaching out to him, moving closer. He moved forward.

There were no words. Rather, there was presence, there was recognition between them. Spock’s mind, once separate from his, now sought matching points with his own. Their thoughts entwined. Love and need made contact. Each hidden protected secret place was unlocked by the correct key.

He could feel the bond forming, link by link, between them. That which they had created from pain and regret and love and need crystallized into the image in Kirk’s mind: the manacles on their wrists, the chains between them binding them together, taut, unbreakable—eternal.

“I love you,” they whispered in unison, with one voice. Never and always. Touching and touched. For as long as they lived.


End file.
